


Over The Fence

by wildkaleidoscope



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cowgirl, Cute, Equestrian, F/F, Gen, Lesbian, Original Characters - Freeform, Reality, Romance, Showjumping, YA, equine, horse, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:19:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13107792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildkaleidoscope/pseuds/wildkaleidoscope
Summary: The last summer of high school for Dan Reed is about to take an abrupt turn in a direction she could not have foreseen for the life of her, all thanks to brown curls, green eyes and a smile that can kill.





	1. the day the world fell silent (prologue)

Nothing in my entire life could have prepared me for this. 

I’m not really certain how I actually ended up here, but now there was no turning back. I scrunch my nose at my reflection, flattening the front of my show shirt. I have to do this, they are all waiting for me downstairs, my mother included. I can’t do it, though. I close my eyes, trying to reason with myself, but to no avail: my body won’t move from there. I curse and I swear, but nothing do; my feet won’t move, I am deadly anxious about this, and I don’t even like it that much.

Or maybe I do, and that’s what's terrifying me.

I don’t have time to think further about the implications of that last thought before three soft knocks disturb my silent panic. I squeak out a ‘it’s open’, thinking it’s my mother, coming to rescue me, telling me I don’t have to do this, that I can, if I want to, go back and forget about all this. Except it’s not my mother, and I find myself rushing to my bed to cover my naked butt. Almost-naked, actually, because I do have a pair of white cotton underwear, not my most fancy, and certainly not the pair I would’ve worn if I had known who was behind the door.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought you said it was open.”

Zoe is clasping a hand over her eyes, but I can see that her fingers are slightly ajar, letting her eyes ghost over my body. I feel heat irradiate to my cheeks, but I don’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. I nod, sitting on my bed with a resigned sigh.

“I can’t put them on.”

She looks at me, her head cocked to the side, a confused smile dancing on her pink lips. I point at the pants, black and new, perfectly flat on top of my covers. She inhales sharply as she gets it, and she swiftly walks to my side. When she plops down on the bed, her perfume envelops me like a warm and reassuring wave and I smile despite myself. She looks at me with a weird look in her eyes for a second or two, but before I can ask, she is looking away.

“Want me to get your mom?”

I shake my head and grab her hand when she tries to leave. We are both shocked at the gesture, but she doesn’t fight it, not like I do. She is so different than me, so opposite, but still, it’s her face that I see when I close my eyes, and it’s her smile that make me smile. It’s her voice that soothes the doubts in my mind, her hand that warms up mine.

“You’ll have to do, I guess.” I joke, and she giggles. “I don’t know why I can’t get them on, they’re just pants. I guess it makes it official. I’ve crossed to the other team, and after that, there’s no turning back. It's probably stupid, but I can't shake the feeling. It feels too much like _before_ and it makes me sick. I bet I'll look horrible in them.”

I don’t know what was so funny in what I said, but when I look up from my tangled hands, Zoe is trying – and failing annoyingly – to hide a lopsided grin. When I raise my eyebrows, she can’t help it and she breaks into a fit of giggles. She clasps a hand over her mouth and tries to apologize, but all she can do is laugh even harder.

“I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry Dan, I didn’t mean to start laughing, but it’s just… I didn't peg you for a girl to worry about pants fitting her.” she stiffles another giggle. “I know this is hard for you, and it makes me appreciate even more your dedication. Even if it's all because of your pride.”

She had regained her seriousness now, and I find myself wanting her to laugh instead of giving me such a look; expectant of me agreeing with her, fear that I would retreat in my old habits and dismiss her, hesitation when I open and close my mouth. I sigh, unable to meet her electrifying green eyes any longer. I let my gaze wander to the pants, and my heart sinks to the bottom of my white socks. 

I bite my bottom lip, spinning my thumb ring on my finger without noticing it, and my leg starts to bounce up and down. I take another deep breath and then I get up and grab the pants. Zoe’s face lights up instantly and I give her an eye roll to let her know that she is obviously not the cutest thing right now.

“You’re right, it’s not the end of the world. Nothing can throw the cowgirl out of me unless I let it. Those pants sure are tight!”

I manage to slip one of my legs in, and I have to jump around to pull them up. When they are finally in place, I give Zoe a look that must’ve translated my thoughts pretty accurately because she exhales a laugh and nods with a grin.

“Yup, they’re tight. You might feel uncomfortable for the first few minutes, but I promise they are the best, and you’ll never want to get them off again.”

I can list at least a thousand reasons right then and now for me to take them of as soon as I can. Reason number one being they were anything but comfortable, and I feel like I have a pillow under my butt and between my legs. I grimace and swallow down the remark when Zoe claps her hands excitedly and hands me an elastic and a handful of bobby-pins. I raise an eyebrow, unsure what exactly she wants me to do with all these pins, but I pull my hair into a ponytail, which I don’t really like.

“Can’t I have my hair in a braid?” I ask, and she shakes her head, positioning herself behind me and undoing my ponytail.

I scrunch up my nose and I try to pry myself away from her hands who are lifting my whole face backwards as she pulls on all the loose hair and licks it flat on my head. She twirls the thick and long handful of hair in her hand until it forms a tight bun at the base of my neck. I grimace in pain as she digs bobby-pins in my skull, or so it feels like. I’m pretty sure my scalp is bleeding by the time she’s finished, but she looks pleased. I open my eyes and I see a completely different person in the mirror.

Shock is depicted on this young woman’s face, her eyes are clear and free of any strand of hair, her head is round and elegant, she has something about her; maybe it’s the clothes. I catch Zoe’s lingering eyes behind me and we exchange a shy smile. She has her hands on my shoulders and they slowly drag themselves off, softly grazing my hips on their way and I feel a new wave of heat color my cheeks.

“You look gorgeous.” She whispers with a sincere smile, but her eyes say something else, something I can’t quite figure out.

I manage to croak out a thank you. I look down at my feet, who are still boots-naked, and I spot the unopened shoebox beneath my bed where my pants were a few moments ago. I don’t really feel like moving from my spot, though, and the idea of leaning back against Zoe brushes my mind. 

Someone calls from downstairs, asking if everything is alright, and it breaks our moment. I don’t even know what kind of moment it was, but Zoe breaks into a large smile and she walks to the door.

“I’ll see you down in a sec?”

She must’ve seen my apprehension, but I can’t help feel like this is also a subtle way of asking if she needs to stay here, with me, if she  _can_ stay here even if I don’t need her. I nod before I can think about it, and her smile flickers for a millisecond before she turns the door handle.

“Wait, no, actually, maybe you could help me get my boots on?” I ask innocently, pointing to the box behind me, and now it is impossible to miss the spark ignite in her eyes.

We sit down on the bed, a little closer than needed, but for once, I don’t mind. I haven’t minded the invasion of my personal space since a long time, actually, when it comes to Zoe. I push that thought aside and I let her show me how to properly put on such a high cut boot. I’m not sure my calf will fit, but I try it on anyway.

“Wow, these are really comfy.”

I am actually impressed by how comfortable they are. I know that new shoes can be a little hard at first, but these! These aren’t hard at all, they’re soft and my feet fits in perfectly. My calf slipped inside like a perfect match, and I feel a pang of guilt thinking about my old leather boots laying just next to the bed.

“Don’t tell me you’re silently apologizing to your ragged and old pair of cowboy boots because you’ll be wearing these perfect black things from now on?” 

Zoe has a way of reading my mind that is very disturbing, but I can’t even be mad at her because she is right. Although I will not admit it, I might wear those boots more often when I ride. I roll my eyes at her, making it like even just saying such a thing was complete non-sense, but I knew she knew better. 

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change, I don’t know quite how. Time seemed to pause as my eyes lock with hers. Our breaths suspended in the air, I find my body aching for proximity, slowly plowing forward in sync with her. She never looks away, and my mind is racing, red alarms are flaring everywhere, but still, when her hand reaches for my cheek, my world goes silent.

Our lips meet in an explosion of sweetness, and my eyes close instinctively. I should breathe, I need to fill my lungs with oxygen, but I don’t want to break away. Her lips are kissing mine with passion, fiery passion, and I get the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s thought about such a kiss. I have to breathe now, my chest is caving in, my lungs are on fire. I gently pull away, and when our lips disconnect, it’s like a machine being forcefully turned off; my head hangs down, my shoulder slumps, like my life was hanging in that kiss.

“We should go.”

That’s all she says, and I’m not sure why, but I start to panic. Does she regret it? Because I sure don’t. I hope she doesn’t think it was a mistake, or that I didn’t like it. I need to make sure she knows that I loved that kiss, I loved that it was coming from her most of all. So I slide my hand behind her neck and I pull her close again. One second before touching her lips, I hesitate. Maybe she was rushing to go back downstairs because  _she_ didn’t like it. I can’t stop now, though, so I decide to go for it anyways.

I think our second kiss is even longer and deeper. Now I'm sure she didn’t regret it, but I still have to pull away for air because it seems as if she has infinite oxygen supply. She grins at me like a fool, and I grin back at her. She takes hold of my hand, our fingers finding the perfect spots over the other’s hand, and this feels so normal, it’s quite frightening. We go back downstairs, but I let go of her hand before anyone can see.

She looks at me worryingly, but I brush it off with a smile. 

 


	2. DANIELLA : new beginnings

### DANIELLA: new beginnings

When I was a little girl, my dad put me on a horse and told me to jump the fence in front of me. I had never been on a horse, or even near one, but somehow my father thought I would be able to do this. This is not like in the movies, I did not have a natural talent with horses. It was an old mare, you know, a lesson horse, who had seen so many children on her back, and I think you could have decided to rear up a chainsaw over her head she would've stood still. I did as my dad told me to do; I clicked my tongue and pressed my legs by her side. She did not move. My dad shoved a stick in my hand and told me to make her move.

I wasn't very comfortable smacking the mare; she hadn't done anything wrong really, I was just so nervous I think she knew it. I did it anyway, and that's when she decided to move. I had done a lot of reading on horses, mainly looked at the pictures I'll admit, and I had watched every horse movie I could put my hands on. Horses were a family passion, at least on my dad's side. My mother was more into books and calm hobbies. She argued with my dad a lot about his passion for horses, but he had convinced her to let me try riding at the stable where he had his two horses. See, after I smacked the mare, the first thought that ran through my mind was : _mom will never let him take me anywhere again_. She, her name was Calliope, took off in a furious tail whip and charged towards the fence.

My stirrups were a little too long because I hadn't had my growth spurt yet so I was shorter than most of the girls in my class. I wasn't holding the reins very well, and I was definitely not prepared for the strength at which the mare propelled herself forward. All of these elements led to me grabbing two handfuls of hair at the base of her neck and prayed. I closed my eyes and screamed in surprise when she jumped. The unusual movement threw me off for good, and I flew out of the saddle and on the side pole. My head was protected with a helmet, but it's my face that took the impact. I crashed the poles and I heard my dad swear from the middle of the ring.

Let me tell you, it took a lot of flowers and sweet words for my father to be forgiven. On the plus side, I got to eat as much ice cream and smoothies as I could and I was exempted from class for a whole week. The downsides were painful, especially the black eye and hairline fracture on my left cheek bone, and the bruised ribs that forbid me to lift my left arm.

For the following six years, many more injuries were to come because of horseback riding, and many more fights between my parents too. I used to block out the sound of their yelling by playing loud music in my headphones, but after a while, it would give me a headache. I ran away one night, and had made my way all the way to the stables to see Calliope, before someone noticed me and called my parents. They didn’t fight for a week after that. I had hope, but it didn’t last long. Hearing my father's angry voice shout at my mother while she threw plates or keys at him, I decided to run away again, but I got caught. They went at it louder than before, and I was left wishing and praying to make it stop. But at ten, I just wanted it to stop, for my parents to make up and stop fighting, not _break up_ and stop fighting.

That last night, I pressed my hands to my ears really hard and I repeated out loud the same three words that I'd been screaming in my head: _make it stop_. God heard me, it seems, because shortly after, I heard the front door slam shut and my dad's pick-up rear to life. Fear scattered through my body and I ran downstairs and out on the porch. I was about to run after the tail lights when my mother caught me.

"Dani, come here, baby. I'm so sorry."

She wrapped her arms around me and shielded my face from the vision of my father leaving in a dust trail right before my bedtime.

He came back a few days later when I was at school. I know he was there because when I came back with the bus, my mother was on the kitchen floor, crying like a fountain, and she was holding a bunch of documents. I learned way later that they were divorce papers, and I remember the letter he sent me from another state. He told me he'd be more than happy if I came to live with him. He promised to buy me my own horse, and that I could become a show jumping champion.

When I looked at my mother, and read his words, they felt like betrayal towards her. So instead of replying, I just ignored all the phone calls, all the letter he sent me after that. I stopped going at the barn because anything that reminded me of my father made me gag in disgust. How could he just get out of the door and leave, thinking I would follow him like a puppy? Anger seeped through my heart and hardened its edges; I swore to myself I’d never let anybody else get this close. The frozen surface of my love stiffened a little more as I threw out the shredded pieces of paper. No more love, no more feelings for me.

I haven't changed much since that day, to be honest.

I am now eighteen, and trying to pick a college. I so desperately want to get out of this small town. There are only so many times I can walk from one end of town to another without feeling like a caged lion. I feel like there are more fields than there are houses and although fields are great for impromptu races, they are boring. I agreed with my mother when she said it would be a fresh change from the city six years ago, but now I miss the city and its diversity.

"Dan! Dinner's ready."

I grunt and push my chair away from my desk. I still haven't found a college where I want to apply that is both far enough and cheap enough all at the same time. I rub at my face and straighten up my back. I walk lazily downstairs and slouch down at my place. My mother puts down the plates and I serve the salad. When she sits down, I examine her carefully.

The bags under her eyes are becoming less and less visible each day, her face looks more relaxed and when she smiles at me, I feel like it is the most sincere smile she has given me in months. She reaches out for my hand and I look down in embarrassment; she hates it when I stare her down like that.

"I feel alright, Dan. I haven't felt this good in a long time, baby."

I nod my head and I serve the meat and the vegetables. I am not prone to outburst of emotions, but to hear my mother say this makes my heart flutter with pride and I find myself looking at her with a beaming smile and gleeful eyes. She hasn't been able to say those words, and mean them, for seven months now.

A year ago, she lost her job as a baker and thus, we lost the main income for the family. At around the same time, my father had reappeared after nearly four years of complete silence. He had remarried and wanted me to meet his new wife and their young son. It would've been fine if he had contacted me, but instead, he decided to show up at our small house and announce it to everyone. I had found out secondhand that they used to fight because he was cheating on her, and he married that same woman. After ten years, it felt like he had come back just to wipe his feet on my mother’s back.

I am no stranger with depression; my aunt was clinically depressed after she gave birth to my cousin who is half my age, and some other members of my family have dealt with more or less serious depressive stages. I just never thought it would happen to my direct family. I knew times were really hard for my mother, but she always put on such a brave face, I didn't realize I might lose her until she couldn't even get out of bed in the morning. For the longest time, I didn't say anything. I'd let her sit all day in front of the television, I'd make dinner for both of us, thinking she just needed some time.

As the days became weeks and weeks morphed into three months, I knew something else was on. I convinced her to get dressed and we waited at the hospital for what seemed like forever. I wasn't even eighteen yet, and I felt the weight of the world crash on my shoulders when the doctor suggested an appointment with a psychologist. She was prescribed antidepressants and two meetings with a specialist per week. Mental illness was luckily covered by our insurance, but it didn't help lift the boulder sitting on my chest.

Nowadays, though, I felt lighter, like it was only pebbles thrown at me some days. My mom had started a new job, she was a pastry chef at the local bakery since the owner who was also the chef had retired. I worked more manageable hours at the barn so my grades went up too, which opened more college doors. Plus, I just finished paying off my barrel horse.

I guess this changed too; after a few months of horse ban, I couldn't take it anymore, and I begged my mother to find another barn where I could ride. We found this pretty little private barn near where we would later move. Ariane, the owner, is a lovely woman who has helped me in many more ways than I can thank her for. In exchange of my services as a stable girl, she let me ride any of her horses, and that is how we came to this day.

"Mom, I need to ask you something."

I ask in the most honey-drowned voice I can come up with. My mother always fully supported my love of riding, but she doesn't like the idea of racing against the clock at full speed and spinning around barrels. It's the same as when I was jumping - _yikes_ , I hate to think about my short time in the jumping ring - but she has seen me fall more often from my newest ride, a grandson of Dash for Perks, than ever before. My wrist is still fragile from my last fall when I broke it, but I am not going to remind my mom of that if I want a chance to enter my first race this weekend.

"Am I inclined to say no?"

I grunt in annoyance, because she knows me too well and sometimes (all the time) she figures me out even before I can do whatever I was thinking of. I nod shyly, picking at my food and desperate to ask anyways.

"Is it about that rodeo this week-end?" she asks and I nod slightly again, all hopes gone. "You know what I think about barrel racing, Dan."

That's new, too. My mother using my nickname. She stopped calling me Dani right after my father left since he was the one who called me that, and she stopped calling me sweet names during her depression. I think it's the first time she has used it since her illness. I smile involuntarily and look at her, ready to argue with her - again.

"If you promise me you'll be really careful, and that you'll wear your knee and back braces, and your helmet, and maybe also tape your wrists and-"

"Is that a yes?" I squeal and I make a mental note of never doing that again because it sounds so disgusting.

"I'm not finished." She quiets me down, holding a finger in the air, and I am nodding my head, ready to comply to all of her conditions if it means I can compete for the first time. "And I want you to stay away from all the bull riding and dangerous stuff at the rodeo."

I momentarily forget about my promise to never squeal again and jump from my seat to throw my arms around my mother. This is a simple gesture that has been reestablished only recently and oh, how I've missed it. I squeeze tight, kissing at her salt and pepper short hair, at her cheeks and her forehead.

"I promise I'll fulfill all your conditions. Thank you so so much, Mom. You're the best! I love you so much."

I am not prone to outbursts of affection, but when it comes to my mother, I have missed it so much that any occasion is good enough to hug her or kiss her. She pats my back and chuckles slightly.

"Don't ask me to come, though, because I don't think I could take the stress."

I shake my head; I wouldn't have asked her anyway. She has been doing so much better recently, but I've learned to not take any form of recovery for granted. My face is split in a wide grin as I sit back to finish eating. I can't wait to tell Ariane ― _oh crap_. I quickly check the clock in the living room; it's ten past six. I was supposed to be at the barn at quarter to six to help with a new horse that has troubles coming back from the turn out to its stable. I shove the food in my mouth and barely clear my plate without choking to death.

"I have to run, I'm late for work." I excuse myself, picking my plate and half throwing it in the sink. "Back at nine, Mom, love you.”

I hop in my boots while closing the front door and while stumbling down the porch's stairs, I hear my mother call out for me. My brain only has a split second to decide whether I should wait for her or take off. My feet answer for me as they tangle in each other and I trip head first in the parking lots gravel.

"What about your homework?" She says, crossing her arms over her chest as I dust off my jeans.

"I'll do them in the bus tomorrow morning?" It's more of a question than an affirmation, so I quickly add; "Please, Ma, I really got to go. Ariane needs help with a new horse who's causing trouble coming from the pasture. I swear my grades won't be affected."

I didn't really mind my mother not caring much for my digressing report cards, but now that she is herself again, or at least more of a version of herself than when her brain was fogged with depression, I can't go about not doing my homework and skipping classes. I don't hate that she cares about me more than she has in the last seven months, but I did love the freedom of not disappointing anyone but myself for the last seven months.

"Daniella Reed, if I see one more bad report card, you know what will happen."

I wince; I know all too well what's waiting for me if I get another one, and even just thinking about it is enough to make me physically hurt. I don't know if I could go for more than a few days without working at the barn or riding. My mother knows that, and it is like a Damocles sword hanging above my head. It's not that school is that hard, I like my French class and some of my teachers, but I had to pick up so much more work to help pay the bills when she wasn't even capable of showering every day without constant motivation, that my school work had gone dead last on my priority list. Ariane hadn't been so keen on my decision, but she made me promise not to overdo it and gave me more hours.

I exchange one last look with her and I give her an almost convincing angel look before picking up my bike and pedaling as fast as I can to the barn. I know I will face my mom's sermon when I come back because I forgot my helmet, and I sure plan on forgetting to tell her I'm going to ride Dashing Blizzard without it.

* * *

 It turns out, riding a five year old who hasn't seen the inside of a riding hall in three days without a helmet is _not_ the brightest decision of my life. As I wipe out another bucking fit, holding on tightly to my horn and trying to get my horse on a tight circle, I wonder what would happen if I was to fall right this second.

I always had a great balance in my saddle, but Dashing Blizzard, with his youthful energy and eagerness and overall excitement for work, can get carried away easily. He is still a bit spooky, but much less than when I started riding him about a year ago. Caleb, his previous owner and breeder, practically gave him to me considering his origins and potential. Caleb is the closest thing to a brother I have. Five years older than me, he thinks he can boss me around although he doesn't even work at the barn. We argue a lot, and he loves to tease me, but overall, I know he likes me.

I do hope he does, otherwise, nothing would explain this next outburst.

I decide to launch Dash on a cloverleaf pattern, just to get into the workout, but without any barrel to go around. This horse has a tendency to get _very_ excited when he sees a barrel course, and I am not I _that_ reckless. As I am getting him to bend more smoothly on the right side, I hear my name being called out hurriedly. Blizzard is quicker than me to register the startling tone and decides to take off. I have just enough time to adjust my balance and I dig my heels down, fixing my legs to the side and slouching back in my saddle. My weight shifts on his hind legs and that usually means slow down, but he is gone into a furious canter. I pull up my inner rein but he is still running, his nose close to his shoulder.

I press my inside leg on his side and finally, he slows down and doesn't just bend his neck but actually follows the direction. Soon enough, he is immobilized, nostrils flaring and clearly frustrated that I stopped him from running like mad.

"Caleb, what the hell are you trying to do?" I ask once Dashing Blizzard has calmed down.

"I should ask you that. No helmet? Do you have some death wish or something?" He grunts and I roll my eyes.

"Oh please, you never ride with a helmet and you break youngsters. Don't give me the safety speech, Caleb." He opens his mouth to retort something, but I'm right, so he just sighs heavily.

"I know what I'm doing, plus I don't have a future anymore, so if I die, might as well die doing the one thing I know how to do." He replies with a shrug, and I know he's not mad at me anymore. "But you, it's different. Your mom threatened me with words I dare not repeat if I don't make sure you're careful. So please, if you want me to live, get off that damn horse or put a helmet on."

I roll my eyes at him again, but I know he is really scared of my mother. No one knows what she's been through, except Ariane, and I like it that way.

I've learned early in life that when you talk about your problems, people pity you and treat you differently, like you're some kind of fragile china vase that might break at any given time.

So, nobody knows anything about my personal business and it is better for everyone like that. Caleb still thinks my mother might burst through the barn door at any moment and point an accusing finger at him, asking him why he thought it'd be a good idea to lend me such a young and crazy horse.

I chuckle to myself as I remember the day I had seen a hard working cowboy nearly pee his pants in fear. I had to do a lot of convincing and negotiations for him to not cancel the whole thing right after. I walk Blizzard for ten minutes, under the close watch of my brother figure. I can hear him praying that the gelding will behave and I am tempted to completely let go of the reins and take off my stirrups just to show him that I have the situation under complete control, but I feel bad enough for making him so nervous already.

"You took your damn time," he complains as I finally get off and lead Blizzard towards the door.

"Sorry I had to cool him down, we've been working on bending smoothly on the pattern." I say with a shrug. "You didn't have to stay, either."

"How'd that go?" He professionally ignores my last comment and I smirk.

"It was going okay, he bucked a lot at first, but calmed down, and he was starting to be really smooth on the right side when you barged in and startled him. Thanks for that, by the way." I punch him in the arm and he clutches at it dramatically.

"Sorry I want to live." He retorts but nods along. "So, did you ask your mom for this week-end?"

We're back at the barn now, and I put on my best poker face, turning my back to him to attach Blizzard's halter to the chain. I take my time unfastening the cinch and putting the stirrup across the horn. Going to the other side, I look at Caleb with a large grin because I can't hold it back anymore. His face lights up and his quirky grin matches mine easily.

"Can't wait to see you run this fat thing for the first time!" He thunders happily, clapping his hand on Dashing Blizzard's neck vigorously.

"Hey! He's not fat!" I protest, although I have to say he didn't lose all of his winter belly like I hoped he would. "But she put a lot of conditions, and I think I broke them all tonight. She might give you a call to tell you to keep an eye on me Saturday."

He nods, stroking my horse's neck and grins like a little boy. I grin too, feeling much like a kid promised to go to Disney land, and put Dashing back in his box stall. My eyes dart at my watch and I swear under my breath. It is five to nine and I need to erase all traces of the hour long riding session I just had. I keep cursing as I run to the bathroom, and duck under Caleb's arm as he leans against the door.

"Gotta run, Caleb, I'm late for my curfew.” I push past him and grunt in annoyance as I hear him snicker. "Bye, Caleb!"

I hear him laugh even louder as I stumble out of the stables and nearly land face first in the stack of hay where my bike is parked. I roll my eyes; even to me, it is a mystery how I can be so clumsy and ill-balance on foot and stick like glue to my saddle on a fast moving animal that’s thirty times more powerful than me. I pedal furiously, praying that my mother will let tonight go and won't revoke my entrance to this weekend's rodeo.

She is washing the dishes as I walk in and I feel a tingle of pride from this simple view. I find myself waiting for her anger with a bit of anticipation. I have gotten used to her half hearted sighs whenever she asked me something and I forgot.

"Are you okay?" she asks, expelling the sharp breath she had taken to tell me off.

"Yeah, sorry, just some thoughts. I know I'm late, Mom, I'm so sorry, I got caught up with Caleb and talking about this weekend. Here, let me finish the dishes. You go and get ready for bed."

I wipe a metaphorical forehead when I see her nod and smile. She kisses the top of my head before getting out of the kitchen. I sigh in relief; it's easy to forget that this is still new to my mother, and that it can get too much.

I let my thoughts wander to what it would be like if depression had never hit us like a train wreck and my hands automatically clench around the plate I'm holding. Life just isn't fair; we didn't deserve any of this. My mother didn't deserve to feel like an entire horde of horses had trampled her body every morning, pinning her down in her bed. I grit my teeth and will my mind to think of something else. I know that once the bitterness and the angry side of my cloud of thoughts is awaken, it can rain on my mood for days. I need to be at the top of my game for Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holiday update, there's another one queued before the end of the year. Hope you all like this first intro! Tell me your thoughts!!


	3. ZOE : leaving home

### ZOE: leaving home

It's still dark outside when I get up, but I don't care. I have waited long enough for this day to come, I can't stand lying in bed for another minute. Throwing the blankets off my body, I tip toe downstairs to the kitchen and put the coffee machine on. My parents are still asleep, obviously, and I like the quiet of the house this early in the morning. I haven't slept since two nights ago when I hung up with my uncle. A dreamy smile hasn't left my face since the confirmation that I could go live with him. The loud beep of the machine brings me out of my train of thoughts and, humming softly, I pour the dark liquid in my favorite mug. It's a printed mug that my parents offered me for my 21st birthday a couple of months ago.

It is a picture montage of my most important moments since I started school. In a few hours, I will be standing on a stage, after hundreds of other students, and shake the hand of the dean. He will hand me my diploma and I will officially be a college graduate.

The best three years of my life, if you ask me. I had so much fun, and I couldn't have been happier with my new degree in equine studies. The only thing is, I don't know if pursuing a career simply _related_ to horses is enough. I love show jumping, as the chimney mantel full of trophies and ribbons displays, but I know I can't only rely on competitions all my life. I need something else, something that will fulfill me on a different level.

And that's when I had the idea to ask my uncle if I could live with him.

He has a lovely riding club, on the outskirts of a small town. It's still fairly new, he built it all by himself, and he needs more trainers to get a show jumping team on the go. I have been jumping since I was probably six or seven, so I automatically jumped on the occasion. We talked about it for a few weeks, how everything could work out, and we came down to a satisfying plan. For all I know, every member of my family is a horse person, or has a horse related job. My dad is a horse dentist, my mother is a vet, my uncle has a barn, my grandpa used to be a jockey, and my grandmother is an ex dressage champion.

I hurriedly turn off the lights when I hear sleepy footsteps upstairs. I know my mother doesn't like me getting up when everyone is still asleep. For that exact reason. She half stumbles down the steps, rubbing at her heavy eyelids.

"Zoe, it's five in the morning. Why do I smell coffee?" she asks with a yawn.

I am rocking back and forth from my heels to my toes, unable to stand still. She shakes her head and chuckles before gesturing to the mug in my hands. I hand it out to her and she sips at the hot coffee thoughtfully. I could bounce off every wall right now if I didn't have much self control, but the last thing I want is to wake up my father before his alarm.

He is a lovely and kind man, but not in the morning. Well, not before at least two cups of coffee and reading the comic section of the newspaper. Once he has chuckled to himself, you can talk to him. I exchange a look with my mom when she passes me my mug back and we nod.

"Deck." We mutter in unison, which makes us chuckle and we cover our mouths before hurrying outside.

It's a warm morning and the sky is slowly washing off the night darkness. Like paint strokes, the sun rises and I sit down, my legs curled up under me, to watch it unravel. I love sunrises, it's like seeing the Earth awaken, and no matter how many times I've been up before dawn for shows or class, I am still amazed by the beauty of it. I share this love for nature's wonders with my mother, and we sit in silence, our faces splashed with shy rays of sun. My coffee is soon forgotten when my cat decides to jump on my lap. Setting it down beside the recliner I am sitting in, I stroke his fur thoughtlessly.

"Are you going to take Tots with you?" she asks in a lazy tone.

I'll admit, I haven't thought things further than having the amazing opportunity to expand my training skills with my uncle. Tater Tots, or Tots for short, is my seven year old gelding whom I purchased after my first year of college from the school's stables. He was part of the rehabilitation program I entered as a freshman, and I fell in love with him. We are a good team, a great team even, and to this day, I don't know how someone could have abandoned him. I frown at her question, because that's something I should've thought about: am I going to take him with me? My uncle lives at the other end of the country, so taking Tots with me means I will have to drive there.

I do the maths in my head and grimace worriedly.

"I don't know if I can. I really want to, he's great and I think he would love it there, but can I? It's probably a forty-five hour drive to get there, but only a few hours of plane. How much does it cost to fly a horse across the country, you think?"

I could keep talking, spilling out every thought crossing my mind at this second, but I stop. Sometimes I really wish I could think of such things more than two days before departure.

"We can look up how much it is for a one way ticket for him. I'll talk to your father about it."

I smile brightly because I know that sentence. I'll talk to your father means I will convince him to give you whatever you want. Usually, he doesn't need much convincing. My parents never really refused me anything, and it's not like we're going to run out of money soon. I nod in understanding, and we go back to watching the sun rise. So, Tots is coming with me, that's wonderful.

My father finds my mom asleep on the recliner two hours later and I gesture for him to stay quiet. He glares at me, but I hand him his first cup of coffee and kiss his cheek before half-floating, half-walking to my bathroom. I hear a chair rattle on the ceramic floor and his grunt of appreciation as he takes his first sip of coffee.

I am going to miss my house, that's for sure. I decorated my whole bedroom and bathroom en suite. The walls are covered with memories, and paintings of horses I did throughout the years. As I climb the stairs, I follow my progress from a vague silhouette of a horse to a fully detailed head shot of my dad's mare. She died a year or so ago, and my father still can't bring himself to get another horse.

She was the first horse I fell off from. Nobody could ride her but my dad, who seemed to have a secret code with her. She was like butter in his hands and a pest with anybody else, especially my mother. I shake my head and realize my eyes are full of tears. I swiftly walk to my bedroom to grab my towel and decide to not let the thought of leaving everything I know and love ruin this day.

Still, leaving home leaves a bitter taste on my tongue as I repeat those words in the mirror. This is for the best. I shake my head once again, chasing away the negative thoughts to focus on the task ahead: getting ready for graduation, and boy am I not ready for this either.

* * *

"Moooooooooom!"

She comes running upstairs and flings open my bedroom door. She covers her mouth with her hand.

"What happened?" she asks in a worried tone.

"I don't know, I got out of the shower and it was like this.” I whine, throwing my hands in the air.

"We gotta fix this, baby. We're going to fix this."

She closes the few feet between us and wraps her arms around my shoulder. She tries to soothe my wild and unruly mane, but even under her caresses, they remain the puffy brown thing they were when I came out of the shower. She sits me down in my dresser's chair and spins me towards the mirror. I meet my own blue eyes, then hers, which really are only a reflection of mine with thirty years more of life sparkling in them.

"Everything is alright, darling, let me fix this."

I nod and close my eyes. I relish in the feeling of my mother's hands in my hair, massaging my damp skull. This might be the last time my mom does my hair, and we both know it. Fifteen years of pulling my hair in a tight bun or braiding them for shows or school events, and this is the last time she gets to do it for a special occasion. I open my eyes and catch her dreamily combing my dark locks with her fingers. I squeeze at her forearm, tears tingling my eyes. I smile fondly and she returns the smile, her eyes sparkling too. I think the most emotional part of this whole thing is still ahead. Today is just graduation day, but the day of my departure will most likely be filled with tears and tons of sweet words.

I close my eyes again, like I always do when my mom plays with my hair. Ever since I was a little girl, when my mother had to do my hair, she'd instruct me to not look until the end, and it's become an automatic response to shut my eyes and wait for her to tell me I could look. It seems to take longer, and fatigue is making my head heavy. I'm not sure how long I doze off, but my mom wakes me up with a kiss on the top of my head.

"There you go, honey."

I rub at my eyes and then look in the mirror. My hair is braided on one side of my head, and my curls are pinned against the back of it, in a wonderful cascade of brown locks. I automatically tear up, because I remember the last time I had such a hairdo, and I put a hand on my heart.

"Oh, Mom."

That's all I can say before my voice cracks. I sob shamelessly in my mother's embrace after standing up to hug her.

The last time she did my hair like that had been for my prom night, and I had told her how I wanted to be the prettiest girl there was because then, maybe, Savannah would notice me. My mom had promised me she'd notice me, and she did, oh she did, and we slow danced even when there wasn't a slow song on, and when I came back home after with stars in my eyes and butterflies in my stomach, she had smiled knowingly. Savannah had moved away that summer, but it's alright because I had my kiss from her before she went and that was all I ever wanted.

I put on my graduation dress and my mother hurries down the stairs to warn my father that I'm coming. I know he is waiting in one of his best suits; the best of the best is reserved for when I get married. He probably has an arm curled around my mother's thin waist, and a proud smile displayed on his face. My mom is most certainly holding back tears, clutching a tissue to her chest and smiling from ear to ear. I put my foot on the first step and remember how, when we moved here, I dreamed of coming down those stairs on this day, just like in the movies. This was part of the reason why my parents had bought the house, plus the exceptionally near barn from a suburban area.

One step at a time, I tick off the things I've done in my life just yet that led to this day.

I had been part of the cheerleading team from freshman to senior year. I had competed in more show jumping events than anybody else at my barn, and won most of them to some extent. I had been part of the student council at every position, starting with president as a freshman. I had had five project horses during my college years. I was going to graduate with honorary mention for perfect attendance.

I feel a rush of pride run through my veins when I see the tip of my parents' heads come into view. I resist the urge to run down the remaining steps and hug them as hard as I can. I hear my mom's sharp intake of breath as she sees me fully ready, and I meet my father's teary eyes.

"Stop!" My mom suddenly says in an excited tone. "Pictures."

She runs to the kitchen and back, holding the camera with a grin. I strike a pose, make many silly faces and stick my tongue out before taking a serious pose and letting the shutter click around me. We are two hours early, but that's just us; always early. When my mom is done taking pictures (only because my dad grabbed the camera off her hands, snapped a portrait of her and put it out of her short reach) we all get in the car, with only an hour and a half left.

Maybe that's why we're always early; because we take so long to just get out of the house on our way that we keep at least half an hour of range so we're never late. I hate being late; that's something I had to teach my parents. My mom is a vet but unless she has an operation scheduled, she is most likely to have all her appointments delayed. My dad always mark his client's appointment fifteen minutes earlier than they really are, and most often than not end up ten minutes late anyway, or more. They made great progress, thanks to my perseverance and my busy schedule with shows, clinics, lessons, school and extracurricular activities. I like my life busy, always have and always will.

We make it to the university's property half an hour before the ceremony starts. I pat my dad's shoulder, proud of having made it on time yet another time. My mom makes sure my make-up isn't ruined, and then we walk with our arms linked to the crowd of people already there. I kiss my parent and take off to search for my group of friends.

I see them all huddled around the buffet and I wave at them enthusiastically.

"Hey guys!" I am greeted by hugs and excited grins. "Do you think we got time for a quick nip in the stables?"

I can see I'm not the first to wonder about this and we all nod in unison. We sneak away from the now crowded campus garden. I make a sharp left turn and find myself behind my mother, to whom I quickly tell where I'm going. She nods before resuming her conversation with one of my teachers. I have always been able to go whenever I wanted to go, so long as I told at least one of my parents where. I trot up to my friends and we are pressed against each other, walking in a fast cadence to go see our best teachers.

We sprawl through the stable, each going to see the horse they had been assigned for the last semester. I take a moment to stop and look at them. A handful of people, whom I spent three years learning with and from. I feel my eyes tear up and one of my friend catches my eyes.

"Zoe, it's alright, don't cry now, we still got the whole ceremony to go through." He says with a grin.

I chuckle as I see a few others roll their eyes with an endearing smile. I shrug and smile apologetically; I can't help it. I am a crier, I know it and I can't change it

I slide open the stall door of my mare, greeted by an annoyed sigh. I pet at her head, ignoring her completely uninterested character, and she doesn't move away. That's a lot of progress, because when I first got her as my semester horse, she wouldn't even turn to face the door when I walked in her box stall. She was a good jumping horse, not the best I've worked with, but decent enough to win me some prizes in competitions held by our school or other college. I would usually compete with Tots, but when it was a collegiate competition, the horse had to be registered to a school to enter, thus giving opportunities to students to show off their own training skills, and keep the campus horses' activities diverse.

I sneak out a piece of dried bread I took from home and she snorts happily while eating it. I check my watch and stroke her neck one last time.

"I have to go, Belle. I won't be back, but I'm sure you'll get someone else to not cuddle and be super frigid with. I love you anyways, thank you for the memories." I murmur to her, and this time I don't even try to withhold the tears.

When I get out of her stall, I'm not the only one with watery eyes, and we link arms, ready to graduate and bid our farewell to these horses that will help fresh students next year again. Unlike previous years, these graduating horses aren't available to purchase because they are new acquisition from the school and they have at least another five years of teaching to do before retiring.

We are seated quite away from each other so we wait until the last minute to reach them. There is three other programs before mine is called, and we are fifty students, more or less all friends, to get in line and receive our diplomas. I am shaking with anticipation and excitement as my name gets called. Automatically, my eyes rummage through the hundreds of people sitting in front of the stage and I finally find my father's calm eyes. I smile brightly and barely make it to the dean through water-filled eyes. I shake his hand and take the rolled-up rectangle of paper that finally states I have done it: I am out of school for good now.

I join my seat again and watch the rest of the ceremony, patiently awaiting the moment I can do like in the movies and throw my graduation hat in the air. I don't want to lose it in the chaos that will inevitably ensue this moment, so I pull out a long string from my purse and tie it around the rope of my hat. We get up in a wave of excitement when the dean starts his speech about graduating, and I hear squeals from other students, and myself, when he announces that we can now pass the rope to the left side. A roar of screams and cheering explode right after he declares us graduates and I throw my hat in the air with everyone else.

When I tug at the string, I see my hat sliding towards me and that makes me smile. I am tackled by hugs a second after I place it back on my head. We jump up and down and tears are no strangers to my friends' eyes either. We hug and hold on to each other and I'm still processing the fact that I've now graduated college and I have a certificate that asserts I have studied equine studies. In two days, I am moving at the other side of the country with my horse. _Oh_. I stop bouncing with the others and I bite at my lower lips. How do you tell your best friends that you're simply disappearing in two days?

Here's a thing about my friends and I: I am the one who brought us together. We are a group of about ten people, and we always hang out all together, but if it weren't for me who had befriended them all one by one since freshman year, I don't think we would be as close knitted and attached to each other as we are now. I don't know how to do this, but per usual, I don't need to say much about my concern before they pick up on my drastic change of attitude.

"Zoe, what's wrong?" Samantha asks, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"I forgot to tell you something, guys, and it's... I mean, it's.." I can't say it, I know it'll not only hurt them, but it hurts to think I will not get to see them every day anymore.

"What is it?" Kevin asks, his eyebrows touching in the middle with concern.

They are all huddled around me now, and the pressure builds up in my chest, tears spilling out of my eyes. I take a deep breath and I tell them everything. It takes a few seconds of blinking eye and confused stares before it sinks in. I hear them sigh and say 'oh' as realization hits and I just want to hug every one of them.

"Will you come visit?" Barbara asks and I must look at her like she's grown a second head because she holds up her hands and shrugs. "Just asking."

"Of course I'll visit! And you guys are welcome to come and visit me too! I know it's a long way to go, but you are my best friends, all of you. I will miss the hell out of you!"

They coo in unison and I am flooded with arms as they all hug me tightly at the same time. I smile and hang on to any body I can fit in my embrace. When they release me, I see my parents waving from a polite distance and I excuse myself.

"We'll make a Facebook page, Zoe, and you ought to post as many pictures of the country as you can. And give us news, will you?" Erik calls out before I join my parents.

"Sure thing. I'll see you at the party?"

They all nod and I give them a double thumbs up before running towards my mom and dad.

"Are you okay, princess?" My father asks, draping me in one of his protective fatherly embrace.

"Yeah, I am. I guess I just didn't realize that moving with uncle Carl also meant saying goodbye to all my friends plus you."

"You don't have to stay if you don't like it there." My mom chimes in, squeezing my hand affectionately.

"I know, mom." I sigh, resting my head on my dad's shoulder comfortably.

We go from campus to the restaurant, and I congratulate my parents on their judgment. We pass many restaurants that are overflown with people, usually one or two parents with a kid in a black graduation robe. When we get there, however, the restaurant is almost empty. Sure, we had to drive a solid thirty minutes, but my parents know this is my favorite place to eat.

It's two and a half hours later when we roll out of the restaurant and to the car again. My mother had to discreetly pop open her pants' button because she ate too much. I am glad for this ample and unflattering black gownbecause I'm pretty sure my stomach is sticking out as if I was five months pregnant.

"I hope they have good restaurants where uncle Jack lives." I wonder, making my mother chuckle.

"Honey, there are good restaurants _everywhere_ , you just have to look for them.”

I nod to myself at the back of the car, already thinking about other things. The thing that made this restaurant so special was the owner; a fifty something woman with three kids and a horse boarding at my barn. She is exactly the type of woman I want to become; accomplished, fulfilled and busy, minus the restaurant. I dream of what my life could be; a career in show jumping with Tots and running a horse rehabilitation center, with a flock of kids mixed in there. And a wife. Of course. Maybe a dog, or two. Definitely two. And cats, so many cats. Cats everywhere. The thought of cats invading my house makes me snort to myself and my dad gives me a weird look.

I often think of what my wife would look like, act like, but something tells me that it's silly to hope for a certain person when you can never predict when you're going to fall in love. My problem is; I fall in love with anyone. Well, not guys, they have been ruled out for a long time, but I fall in love with girls so easily, it is ridiculous. I can't help it; girls are so pretty, and soft, and I've had a crush on all of my friends. Maybe it's just because I keep confusing romantic love with platonic love. I fell in love with the way Barbara never steps down in front of a challenge, and I fell in love with Samantha when she dances at parties. I could go on and on, but I've learned to put my friends in a side box labeled "out of reach". It takes a moment for a new girl friend to pass from the "girls" box to the "out of reach" but once it happens, it's like a lock put around my heart.

I wonder if it's healthy to repress feelings like that, but I guess it can't be that bad and it's functioning for me. Why change a winning combination, right? By the time I am done analyzing my affection for my friends, we are back home and it's time to get ready for the graduation party at Kevin's house in three hours. I hop out of the car and send a text message to Erik to make sure he is still picking me up. We are all staying over at Kevin's house because, surely, there will be a lot of drinking involved and I'm not one to let my friends drive while intoxicated.

I don't even want to think about the horrible possibilities if it were to ever happen, and I can't let my brain wander through dramatic scenarios. I need to appreciate every second I will get to spend with my friends tonight because it is the last time I will see them before my departure.

I sigh and shake my head, ready to slip on my happy jolly face. The sadness is pushed far, far down until it's just a slight discomfort at the top of my stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all of you! Next update will be after my birthday, so maybe in 2 weeks, sorry!


	4. DANIELLA : breathless

### DANIELLA: breathless

I bend down in my saddle, my heart racing in my chest, and I extend a hand to caress my horse's neck. He's already sweaty and I know it's not from nervousness but from excitement. I see his nostrils flaring, and I swear I can feel his heart pounding in his chest. He keeps side stepping and trying to go forward. My hips follow in fluid movements, and my head is repeating the cloverleaf pattern again and again. I focus on melting into my saddle, fixing my legs on the sides so I can be more in contact with my horse.

It's both our first event and it probably shows.

We've been training almost daily for the last three months, not even knowing if I could go to the rodeo. I nearly fell off him during our practice run this morning at the barn, and for a moment I had been scared this was going to be too much. My wrist aches from my last fall when I wiggle it, but I made sure to tape it so it can't really bend. My back brace feels hot and I am probably all sweaty under the ridiculously thick knee brace over my jeans.

I hear the announcer call the time of the team that went before me and my lips split into an excited grin. I take one last deep breath as my horse shakes his head, trying to escape the action of the bit; I can't loosen my reins or we risk a false start. I put one hand at the base of his neck. I know a lot of teams chose to get the right barrel first, but my horse would have to prefer the opposite side, so I angle his body to be ready for take off.

"And here comes Dan Reed on Dashing Blizzard!"

That's our cue.

I let my reins loose over Blizz' neck and he bolts forward. I don't know if I'll ever stop being amazed by the sheer power of his hind legs every time we roll out of the chute and into the ring. His ears are straight up on his head, and I hold on to my horn tightly, digging my left heel to his side so he is well framed for the turn. I give a quick upward tug at my reins as his nose approaches the left barrel and feel him slow down. He spins around the barrel, his forelegs disappearing deep in the soft sand, and I kick against his sides a few times to encourage him to pick up speed as soon as he has regained balance from the turn.

We race across the large ring and engage in the right barrel, almost tipping it over because I gave the tug a little early and Blizz' shoulder grazed the hard plastic. I silently pray that it stops wobbling and stays up, but I don't have time to check it as I cluck energetically, launching him on the last barrel, the one that's the further away from the chute. He knows the end is coming and he'll get to power-run the stretch home. We clear the last barrel like it was on fire, and the knotted rope attached to my horn whips his croup once on each side; this is his green light. I hold the reins far in front of me so he has as much neck length as possible. I stand in my stirrups, and  bend forward, yapping and giving a few encouraging jab of my heels to boost his speed to the maximum.

I can feel the majestic power of his canter; I can hear his heavy breathing, his ears pointed backwards at me. I feel the stretching of his neck, the split second of flying right before he propels himself forward with his hind legs, I feel him pounding the light sand as my heart races in my ribcage. I see the chute coming closer and closer, and I push him a little harder, just a second or two more.

We cross the finish line in a furry of mane and tail.

I hear the announcer call out our time and I throw my arms around the large neck of my gelding with a victorious grin. 15.87 seconds. It's not the best time of the day, but it is a great time for a first competition. I'm mostly proud of how insensitive he had been of the different environment. All that matters for him is to complete the cloverleaf pattern and fast. I have to leave the deck, where another girl is waiting with her jumpy mare. I smile at her and tilt my hat her way when she smiles back.

She looks a bit scared, and I think maybe it's her first competition too. Her horse sure looks ready, and I wonder if she is scared because of the race or because she seems to have some difficulties controlling her mare. She's bouncing up and down on her hindlegs, her ass almost to the floor, ready to bolt out of the chute.

"Hold on tight to that horn, you'll be fine."

I call out right before the announcer call her name out, and she nods ever so slightly. I pat Blizz' neck gently and let him walk for a while, just wandering and cooling down. We're up for our second class only in a long time, so I lead him back to the trailer, where I untack him before heading to the restaurant.

Caleb is running towards me with a smirk and his eyes squinted in joy. He tilts his cowboy hat to me and I hold my hand up high. He slaps it enthusiastically and we grin at each other for a while; no words are needed because we both know I've got a bombshell of a horse.

"Did you see how he pulled up right after that first barrel? He's just so amazing! And he didn't even flinch because of the loud speakers blaring names and all.”

I am shoving food in my mouth between two excited sentences, and I know I must look like a toddler trying to explain their newest adventure, but I know Caleb gets me, and it's what's so great about horse people. They just know. I salute a couple of girls I've seen competing against since I moved here, and they all give me a tap on the back and congratulate me on my run today.

"I told you he was a great prospect. I should've sold him for more, though, 'cause that horse is gonna bring a hella lot of cash!"

Caleb shakes his head and I can't help but smile and beam at him. We've known each other for so long, he couldn't say no when I bargained Dashing Blizzard's price down to something nearly ridiculous. He still cost me almost a year of work money, but I had been smart enough to save most of my money since I started working, and whatever I didn't use to pay the bills while my mother was sick.

When I come back to my trailer, my horse is trying to get the grass _under_ the trailer. I roll my eyes and pick a handful of green blades for him. I pat him down, to make sure that he has cooled down enough and that he didn't get mysteriously injured while I was eating.

I hear a shriek of excitement behind me and I cringe slightly. I didn't think they would come, but you could always count on Isabella to make an appearance where there might have a slight chance of cute boys. I swing around to greet my flock of weirdly endearing friends. They are all smiling at me, obviously impressed.

"Hey guys! I didn't think you'd come today."

I am truly surprised that they even remembered when I told them about a possibility that I would compete in this rodeo, a week ago. I reluctantly pat Isabella's back as she hugs me closely, like always, and I step away to regain some personal space, leaning back against my horse's shoulder. He lifts his head from his grazing at the touch, blowing a long sigh on my shoulder.

"Of course we came, it's not every day that Miss Mystery tells us about something in her life."

It's coming from Alex, obviously, and I roll my eyes. He's the only one giving me nicknames, but it's still really annoying. I can't really blame him, though, because I do have a lot of secrets kept from them, and it's not their fault I don't like sharing my personal life with anyone. I let the hidden meaning of his words roll off my back and instead, I grin cheekily.

"Did you see our run?" I ask, full of hope, and they nod happily. "I ran faster than that in the ring, but it's not too bad for a first time out."

I see Vivian popping her hands on her hips, and I brace myself for a loud remark, but her smile is teasing. I gulp down my fear and I instead get ready to wipe off a mockery. Vivian is the most outspoken and fierce person I've met since I started hanging out with this mismatched group of teenagers like me. Admittedly, she is also terribly hot and it doesn't help that when I came out to my friends at the start of the year, she gave me this weird look and lopsided grin that I still haven't figured out yet.

"Sure, it's not like it was so impressive, I mean, you were obviously real slow and not at all ridiculously amazing."

She winks at me and I roll my eyes, thanking my good fortune that it's hot today and my face is already reddened by the sun. The others agree, and I shrug the compliment off, because I'm not used to being praised by my friends. It's a strange feeling, actually, to know they are impressed by my performance although they don't know anything about my world. It's almost like them being here today makes our friendships official, which is not unpleasant, but confusing too, as it is the end of the school year and we're all going in different directions after that.

"Alright, well, I'm up again in two hours. I'll head over to the bleachers, see what my competition looks like. Blizz is staying here to guard the grass."

They follow me without even hesitating, apparently liking the atmosphere around here. Mary jogs up to me as the others form a wide bundle of bodies behind me, and she bumps my shoulder with a smile.

"You were fuckin' fantastic out there. I could've sworn you were going to either fly the fuck out of here or eat dirt faster than a Lab can get to cat shit.”

She chuckles with admiration, and I can't help but snort at her semantics. Mary is a really sweet and shy girl, but once you get on her good side, you find out that you should absolutely never judge a book by its cover because she is nothing like what she appears to be. She also happens to swear like a sailor and her comments can be rude sometimes, especially when she's annoyed at Isabella for only talking about boys despite her long-time boyfriend.

"Thanks, Mary, your compliment's appreciated, especially the last part. I don't know where you get all these expressions but please, never stop, they always make my day."

I give back the smile that's hanging on her lips and we find an empty bench on the first row. Kennedy is on my right side, and I'm glad it's not Isabella because her constant chatter is tiring. I don't know how he has been putting up with that for so long, but there's a tacit agreement between us; don't ask and I won't. And I'm not ready to give up the peace of mind he offers me just for my curiosity. He's the only one who also rides in my group of friends, and sometimes we go on long trail rides. He never turns down a race, but always loses because his favorite horse at Ariane's stable is a fat, old and lazy Quarter Horse.

"How does it work? You have to go to the sides barrels and then the one at the end, and then you race back from where you're coming from? Do they judge only the time or they also judge like how well the horse took the turns and such?"

I can always count on him to ask the best questions, and that's what I like about him. I think I probably could've gone out with him even if he was a guy if it hadn't been for Isabella. I'm not about to go and say that aloud, though, it would only encourage Alex to keep hitting on me and stir drama in the group, which I usually tend to avoid; it's a survival thing. I think for a moment on how to put this with the least technical words possible, and I happily answer.

"Basically, yes. Most riders chose to go to the right barrel first, they have to circle it completely, so they spin from the outside of the barrel. Same thing on the one opposite, and the one at the end of the ring is the final barrel. It's called a cloverleaf pattern because if you draw it on a paper, well, it looks like a clover. You have to look hard to see it, though. Anyway, you're only judged by your time. You get penalties when you tip a barrel over. Then, at the end of the day, they take the best time, say it's 15 seconds flat. That's the first division. Then, second division is anyone half a second slower, so 15.5 seconds, third is a full second slower so 16 seconds, and fourth is a second and a half slower than the best time, so that would be 16.5 seconds." I explain, restraining myself from a long monologue, just in case Ken wasn't that interested, but he scratches his head and seems to think for a moment.

"Okay, I get it, but then, who's the winner?"

"Everyone, that's the great thing." I pipe up with a smile, and he looks confused. "Well, not everyone, I guess. But they make the top four for each divisions, so if you take first division, anyone with a time between 15 and 15.49 seconds is eligible for a prize, second division is from 15.5 to 15.99, third is 16 flat to 16.49, and fourth is 16.5 and slower."

He nods and we go back to our comfortable silence as I focus on trying to add up the times and see where I stand in the rankings before my second class.

"You said you were up again later, why? Didn't you qualify already?" Kennedy asked after watching a few other runs.

"Yeah, but that's the youth class. Anybody 18 and under can enter this class, it gives a chance to younger riders. Next one is the longest, the open class, where anybody can enter no matter their age. Usually, they have different rings for the different classes, but it's a rather small rodeo, so they use the other rings for bull riding and reining. There's also the senior class, which is for people older than fifty, or sixty I think. Anyway, right now, I am in the low second division for the youth class, which isn't so good, but it's a great first time."

"You mean it was the first time he did this?" He asks, obviously impressed.

"No, I mean it's the first time he's done it outside of our ring, which is smaller and less chaotic. But he loves it so much, and I've worked him on bolting out of the chute at home, and he's been trained really well." I say that last part a little louder because I see Caleb sitting a few places on my left.

Caleb waves at me with a nice smile and that makes Kennedy smile too. As we keep watching, I check my phone from times to times, hoping to get a text from a certain someone. Alex, who just switched places with Mary, clicks his tongue and has an eyebrow raised almost to the root of his hair when I look up.

"What?" I snap, lips pursed as I wait for one of his annoying pick-up line.

"Woah, I hope you don't bite so hard in bed, baby." He chuckles, and I roll my eyes, shoving my phone back in my back pocket. "You waiting for a dirty text? I can send you one."

Here we go again. Alex has never understood that when I came out to my friends at the beginning of the year, I never meant it as a way of encouraging him to keep flirting with me like he had done for the last three years. Contrary to his beliefs, I never felt the need to try boys to be sure I wasn't interested. He makes it easy to be disgusted.

"No, thank you, I already have someone taking care of it. And she's way better than all of your humping could ever be."

He gasps at me, and I don't know if he believes me, but before he has time to ask further questions, I excuse myself. When they ask where I'm going, I grimace uncomfortably. I don't really want to tell them that I have this stupidly superstitious side and I'm actually going to say a prayer by my horse's side to make this second run a great one. I scrunch up my nose and come up with a quick lie, that they buy without hesitation.

"I have to hit the ladies' room and saddle up, I'm on in fifteen minutes so I want to warm up Blizz before our run. Watch out when they call us on deck, you might see him from here. I guarantee I'm not hurting him although he might look like I'm shocking him. He's just really excited to bolt out. See ya!"

And I power walk behind the bleachers, only to clash into someone's else shoulder. I'm about to apologize when I feel a hand lingering on my hip and my throat goes dry. My heart picks up speed rapidly when I meet the dark brown eyes that are smiling provocatively at me. The hand is still on my hip, slowly moving down on my jeans, hiding in my back pocket as I'm being pulled forward. My chest is pressed against another, and I grin insolently, leaning forward to ghost over the captivating lips a few milimeters away from mine.

"Olivia." I say simply, and she nods. "I'll see you after my open class?"

She simply nods again and I let her hand linger on my hip after she gave my butt cheek a slight squeeze, making me growl softly in her ear as a warning, and her fingers caress the front of my jeans, momentarily stopping at the zipper. I shake my head and start walking away, knowing she's watching me intently, her lustful eyes probably following the swaying of my hips in expectation.

I'm just hoping Alex hasn't followed me with his eyes too, because I probably will not live long enough for him to stop fantasizing about this. I shake my head, but it doesn't wash off the playful smile on my lips, and I curse her for doing this to me. I never looked forward to rodeos more than after I met Olivia; slightly taller than me (which was an easy thing to be), hips that could move and a fear of relationships that made her perfect for me.

The first time we met, I was helping Caleb after a rough bull ride, and she had walked up to him with a beer in her hand and a playful smirk. _I'm sorry you were so shit_ , she had told him with a wink. I thought she was flirting with him so I just patted his shoulder and occupied myself with packing up the first aid kit. _And who are you?_ She had asked, suddenly very close to me. I had turned around, only to find her staring me down. I raised an eyebrow, giving Caleb a confused look, who managed to gesture that she was playing for my team. Electricity had ran through my body and I found myself in the back of her truck that night, letting her hands wander on my skin.

To this day, I still am not sure what exactly we are doing, but it doesn't bother me much. She's good company and not demanding. Plus, she is a great partner and doesn't mind the absence of feelings between us. I can't really say we're going out, because we never actually went on a date together, but I can't say she's just a one-time fling either since we've been hooking up whenever she was at a competition I was accompanying Caleb to. Of course, I was excited to see her run too, she was an extraordinary barrel racer, with a horse on springs.

I shake my head with a smirk, chasing away the Olivia thought because I need to be completely focused on my run. I tack up Dashing Blizzard again, much to his disappointment when I put his bridle on and don't let him eat grass anymore. I hop on gracefully and lead him to the waiting area. The announcer calls up the next three rounds and this time, I really shake my head and smirk; Olivia is up right before me, and she probably knew it.

Now our "accidental encounter" seems less accidental and more like her evil plan to screw up my concentration right before my run so she can have the advantage. I don't even mind it, because as soon as we're called on deck, my complete focus is thrown into my horse. I soothe him down as he opens and closes his mouth, most likely uncomfortable because my reins are kept shorter than usual. He steps aside, and tries to lift his front legs, but I won't let him. Finally, the loud speakers call out our names and I let go of his head, reins loose on his neck as he flies out the chute. I pass by Olivia on her grey gelding and she sticks her tongue out at me with a wicked smile. I refuse to assess her smile before the end of my run, and I find her still in the waiting area, trotting her horse on small circles.

"That was mean." I protest when she sees me and smiles wildly.

"You're mean, you never even gave me a chance." She retorts with a shocked gasp, and I have to admit that she's right.

The officials calls my time at 15.03, almost a full second faster than our first run. I walk back to my trailer with her and she lets go of my hand when she sees the small crowd waiting for me there. I grab it back, nodding my head with a shy smile. My friends give me pointed looks, but I don't feel like explaining myself so I just hop down Dashing Blizzard after pecking Olivia's lips. She waves at my friends, who are probably still waiting for an introduction. She tilts her cowboy hat to them before winking at me.

"I gotta go, my college buddies are waiting for me, I'll see you later tonight?"

Olivia takes off with the same flirtatious smile she gives me, except it's directed at Isabella right after I nod. I roll my eyes, both at the tall rider and at Isabella, who gasps in shock and grabs at Ken's hand. I am silently hoping none of them will mention her as I put on Blizzard's halter and attach a rope to it to the side of the trailer. I am in no such luck, it seems, and as soon as Olivia is out of ear reach, Mary whistles.

"That's a nice secret girlfriend you got there, Reed."

"Not my girlfriend." I point my index at Alex menacingly. "And don't you dare comment."

Isabella mumbles something under her breath that I chose to ignore, and I duck under Blizzard's neck to get my grooming box. When I come back, they are all standing awkwardly, obviously waiting for further explanation. I sigh, remembering why I never invited them to come with me to rodeos: same reason why I don't share my personal life. They just don't get it.

"Alright." I pick the first brush up, scratching my nose for a second, trying to see what I want to share about this. "Her name's Olivia, she's a sophomore in college. I met her about two years ago, she's not my girlfriend. I don't want a girlfriend. She's good company and she's a great rider. That's all you gotta know."

They aren't satisfied, and they want to know more, but they also know that I am not going to say anything more. I hear Isabella grunt in annoyance; she is the queen of gossip, and she loves to learn more about anyone she meets, especially relationship stories. I shrug with an almost believable apologetic smile and Vivian snorts, rallying on my side.

"I bet you got loads to do, so we better get going." She announces, and I hope she sees the screamed thank you in my eyes.

"Uh, yeah, I have to groom him, then it's just boring, waiting for the results and watching more runs."

I think they sense I don't really want them to stay longer, but they don't say anything about it and just nod along. I promise to tell them what I win on Monday and endure another fierce hug from Isabella. It's like she thinks that if she hugs me tight enough, maybe some of her love for physical contact will permeate in me. I wave at them from the trailer, watching them walk away. As soon as they're out of sight, I pack my things and put on Dashing's protection. We don't have a long haul to get to the stables, but my horse has a tendency to have dancing parties in the trailer and the last thing I want is for him to injure himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp! sorry it took me so long to update, i am still figuring out if i'm actually going to keep posting or not, so eh... sorry in advance :/


	5. ZOE : deep breath

### ZOE: deep breaths

I double check everything.

Twice.

My mother is already in the car, because she couldn't handle my frantic energy, and my dad is trying to follow my train of thoughts. Train which is about to crash and burn at the speed it's going, but I can't stop worrying. Is there something missing? Have I gotten everything? Outside, my mother honks the horn a couple of times. I check my watch and weep; we have to leave now, or I will miss my flight.

"Tots? Do we have Tots?"

My father puts his large hands down on my shoulders and the pressure is soothing. I follow his breathing pattern; in, and out, in, and out. In seconds, my heart beat has dropped to a more appropriate rhythm and I can focus.

"Right. He's flying next week-end because getting a horse across the country on a one day notice is impossible. His papers are all arranged and he got his ticket."

My father nods along while I speak and I am grateful for his calming skills. My mom honks again and I look into my dad's eyes for a second. He shakes his head, silently forbidding me to cry, so I smile sadly and murmur a okay. We get out of the house, my father holding me tightly by his side to prevent me from flying off to check again to make sure I had taken everything I loved from my room. My mother is patting at her puffy red eyes with a worn out tissue when we get in the car.

The drive to the airport is mostly sung; and I momentarily forget that in less than three hours, I am going to board a flight that'll take me further away than I've ever been from my parents. I reason with myself that I'm going to live with a dear uncle, so it's not completely out of my comfort zone, but this is still the wildest thing I've done all my life. Except maybe entering show jumping competitions. That, for sure, is the most reckless I am in my life, but it doesn't even seem that reckless to me because I'm so used to it.

My face is drowned in tears when I cross the border that separates travelers from the others. I twist my neck, holding on to the vision of my parents clutching tightly at each other, waving at me, until I am too forward in the line to see them anymore. I sigh heavily, and the woman in front of me offers me a tissue.

"Thank you." I mutter, sniffing.

"Why are you so upset, my dear?" she asks, patting my hand affectionately.

"I never traveled without my parents, and now I am going to live with my uncle. I mean, I'm not really sad, it's just hard to think I won't see my friends, my town, and everything I know anymore. I am happy to go live with him, though, it's going to be an amazing experience."

She nods along with my words, and with every one I say, I feel a little better. It's true, it will be amazing, and even though I'll need some adaptation time, I'm sure there are great people there and I will make tons of new friends. I repeat those words in my head and the woman seems satisfied with the smile that slowly stretches my lips. She nods once more before turning around in the queue.

The flight is quiet, except for a baby who is not happy about his ears popping from the departure. My heart is torn when I hear the shriek coming from his tiny mouth. His face is red, just like his mom's, except his is from crying and hers is from embarrassment. I am tempted to reach out for her and tell her that it's okay, but I hold back my hand as an hostess passes by.

I think I fell asleep. I must have because someone is shaking my shoulders. Words are coming, but they are only sounds vibrating through my ears. It feels like they are stuffed with cotton and I realize it's because I have my ear plugs on. I quickly sit straight in my seat, popping one of the wax ball out to hear what the person is saying.

"We have landed, miss." The man tells me with a smile, and I feel a blush creep up my face.

I thank him under my breath, my head still heavy with sleep, and hurry up towards the aisles. It seems I'm one of the last people aboard, so I hastily take my luggage down and make my way towards the door. I smile widely at the staff waiting there, and the hot air hits me in the face when I walk down the staircase.

I take a deep breath the adjust to the thickness of it; it's humid and hot and for sure, my hair will not like it. I wonder if it's always going to be like that for the summer, but I quickly need to focus where I'm going after tripping over my own feet. I blame it on an imaginary asphalt crack and subtly look to see if anyone caught me stumbling.

I go through security and baggage claim at a speed lighting, considering it's a Saturday in the afternoon. I am hauling my two big suitcases and sporting my heavy backpack, making my way towards the arrival gates. I try to see if my uncle is here yet, but knowing he's my father's brother, I am ready to bet he'll be late.

My jaw nearly drop to the ground when I see a man in breeches and a FEI polo holding up a sign with my name on it. I don't get to see my uncle very often, only during long holidays, and when I was little I used to come spend two weeks per summer here with my parents. My face split in a large grin and I run to him with my luggage, nearly crashing into a little kid on the way. I apologize quickly and throw my arms around my uncle's neck.

"Zoe!" He cheers, his words muffled by my unruly brown mane.

I finally let go of him and he immediately takes hold of my big suitcases. I put a hand on his shoulder gratefully; these things are heavy to haul. I follow him through the airport maze and he tells me about the newest horses he bought for the lessons, how they need some training before he can put them on the lesson board. My ears are ringing from excitement and I drink his words with gluttony.

"You'll have to excuse your room, Zee, might need some adjustments. I didn't have time to organize it before you came, and it's been so long. One of the boarding horse got sick and he needed special care." He tells me as we pull in front of his house, an hour and a half later.

"It's alright, I love interior designing." I plant a kiss on his cheek as he opens the front door. "Can I take a look around?" I call out, seeing he is already back to the car to retrieve my luggage.

"Sure, sure, make yourself at home, darling." He responds with a bright smile.

My aunt was the only one in the family who didn't have a horse related job, or a horse herself. She didn't know anything about them, but for him, she was willing to learn. When she married my uncle, she insisted they bought a farm, because she knew he had given up his dream of becoming an Olympic trainer to stay by her side. They had built this house together, but it was only after her death that he decided to open a riding club. He said what better way to honor his wife than that? After twenty years of marriage, she had become a horse lover too, and her last words to him had been a thank you note, for all the amazing adventures he took her on in the horse's world. She died three years ago of pulmonary cancer. She wasn't even a smoker.

There are many frames with her smiling and round face, pictures of them together, pictures of her on a horse. For their twentieth anniversary, my uncle bought a horse for her. Until then, she had been riding a friend's horse, and she was ecstatic to have her own. It was like watching a little girl get her first pony. There is a large oil painting he commissioned on their tenth anniversary of their wedding picture that's still hanging above the fireplace.

I let my fingers glide on the banister, my eyes wandering in the living room that I can see as I'm walking up the stairs. I already know where my room is; it's the same one I used to take when I was younger during summer. I wonder why I stopped coming here, it's so pretty and warm. My house is welcoming and beautiful, but there is a certain charisma to this one; it resemble a vacation home, the kind made all out of wood and furnished with wood things. It smells of passion and dedication. I reach my door and push it open with excitement. It's just as I remember it; the double bed on the far left, against the wall, the old and gigantic dresser on my right, and the desk where I'd write in my journal after a day out, right under the window. The walls are still the same pale yellow they had picked for a baby that never came. I scrunch up my nose once I close the door; it stinks of too many months without being aired. I open the window completely, smiling wide as I hear the birds chirping in the tree adjacent to it.

I've always loved to wake up to the sound of birds singing, but my old bedroom at home - I try the words in my head, rolling them about; they still feel weird - didn't have a tree nearby, so it was my alarm clock. I did, eventually, buy a clock that has a CD player, and put in a nature's sounds album. I breathe the hot air before going back down to help my uncle get my luggage upstairs. I gage the dresser in a long stare, wondering if all my clothes will fit in. I shrug; there is probably some other space I can use, maybe a closet somewhere.

"Come, you must be tired. Let's have a cup of coffee, I'll put your stuff in your room after." He pats down a high chair in the kitchen, already flicking on the machine.

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired, but I'll help you after. I can't let you haul these things upstairs all by yourself."

He shakes his head, dismissing my help, and I smile fondly. He is a proud man, one who doesn't accept help easily, but I'm glad he accepted to let me help with the jumping team. The way we have arranged it, he probably thinks he's doing me more of a favor, and I'm not going to deny that it is a great opportunity for me to really launch my career as a trainer, but I know it's hard for him to run this business all by himself.

"So, how many lessons have you got per week?" I ask, pouring milk on top of the brown liquid.

"I have one group lesson for dressage; they're six friends. They also board their horses here. I've got two private jumping lessons, one of them has a horse, the other is using one of mine. I need to do more publicity, because I've got good boarders, but I really want this to be a show jumping barn."

We drink in silence for a moment, and my eyes wander off through the window, where we can see the impressive and modern stable my uncle has built. I know the lesson horses are in a different stable, I can see part of it, but it's hidden by the new inside riding hall. He told me that most of the lessons take place there because there is a clubhouse for parents and spectators. Then, there's the outside obstacle course he built last year, behind the boarding stable, and I know he has a cross country field somewhere beyond the forest lining the pasture. 

"I could knock on people's door here, put out fliers. Get the barn known. Maybe you could offer a deal on the jumping lessons? Like, two for the price of one? Ten for eight? And we can do try outs for different classes with the boarders, maybe get some more people who could board here for less if they train and compete with our colors?"

I love to rally people, and I'm already getting excited about building a solid team. It is nearly summer, and the show season is about to start, so we have to be fairly quick. I see him nod his head pensively, and I cross my fingers under the table.

"I don't have fliers, though." He scratches his chin. "Can you make ads?"

I nod furiously; of course I can do that! We smile contently, and I find that silence is never awkward with my uncle. I am always talking, babbling about little things, but I like the quiet calm that radiates from him. It calms me down, and makes me comfortable. I don't like silences, they are usually full of unsaid words. They are the death of a relationship because what is there left when you don't have anything to talk about anymore? How close can you be if you can't even hold a conversation without it sounding fake? I sigh; this is why I don't like silences. They make me think, and I overthink everything. I think about small things that don't matter, and it's pretty tiring.

It takes me the rest of the afternoon to organize all of my clothes, but when the cuckoo in the kitchen rings for seven o'clock, I am finally satisfied. I've arranged it in sections: riding, stable work, going out, hanging out with friends, date, casual and official event. That wasn't the most problematic, I had enough space in the dresser to put everything in, but it was when I opened my second luggage, with all my shoes, that I seriously wondered if I'd be able to do this. I managed to fit all thirty pair of them in a corner of the room, and I had to build something that could possibly resemble a shoe shelf.

When I half-stumble, half-walk down the stairs, completely worn out and starving, I let my feet follow the delicious smell of something roasting. I find my uncle out on the deck, flipping two sets of pork chops. My stomach rumbles loudly in agreement and I put a hand on it, chuckling slightly.

"Someone's hungry." He says with a large smile. "I'm a bit rusty at cooking for two, so you'll have to tell me if it's good."

After three short years of living forcefully alone, my uncle still has this sadness fogging up his gaze whenever he mentions his deceased wife. When you've spend nearly half of your life with the same person, three years is a blink to be without them. I plant a kiss on his cheek, thankful for any food that is about to go in my mouth right now. Going back in the kitchen, I fumble about, trying to remember where he keeps plates and utensils. I find the knives and forks after finding the pots and pans, the cooking utensils and the dish cloths.

We eat as the sun slowly descends upon the stables, splashing everything with reds and oranges. I make a mental note to take pictures of such a scenery tomorrow because I know my mother will love it. Thinking about my parents reminds me I need to call them, but a yawn escapes my mouth and I stretch my full stomach, feeling my eyes droop.

"Go to bed, darling, I'll give you a tour of the domaine tomorrow."

My uncle pats my leg and I nod, ready to curl up on my chair and sleep outside. The temperature has dropped, but not the level of humidity. I feel gross; I need to shower and call my parents, then reconnect with my summer bed. I excuse myself, but when I go to pick up my plate, he gestures for me to leave it. At this point, I don't have to energy to argue, so I simply nod, thankful, and drag my feet to the bathroom adjacent to my room.

The shower takes a few seconds to get to the right temperature, which takes more after cold than warm with these conditions. I wash my hair, hoping that maybe it will reduce their volume to something acceptable. Humidity has always made my curls puff even more, and there is no point trying to straighten them. I guess I'll have to get used to having them in a ponytail or extra voluminous. I let the fresh water wash away all the sweat and dirt from my trip, enveloping my skin in a lavender aroma with my shower gel.

When I get out, it's chilly outside and I close my window; my room now smells of fresh air. I take out my cell phone and dial my home, putting it on speaker so I can moisturize while I talk.

"Zoe!" My father sounds surprised, and I look at the time on my phone; it's three hours later for them.

"Sorry, dad, I didn't think of the jetlag. Is it too late?" I rub the cream on my left leg, fixing my toes as I hope I didn't wake him up.

"No, no, your mother couldn't go to sleep before you called. I fell asleep on the couch, but it's all good. How was your flight?"

I try to hold a conversation as much as I can, but after forty minutes, my parents can hear the tiredness in my voice and they wish me goodnight. I put my phone on my nightstand, sliding comfortably under the covers, and I sigh happily. My head has barely touched the pillow that I feel sleep take a hold of me, and I don't resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a small, almost uneventful chap, but i do hope you like it! let me know!


	6. DANIELLA : treacherous

### DANIELLA: treacherous 

Olivia is leaning against a bleacher, waiting for me to finish talking with the girl who looked scared earlier. It turns out I was right, she was also new to the competing world but her horse wasn't. This might have been my first participation, but I am no stranger to rodeos, as I've been going with Caleb since I moved here. I walk up to Olivia, who simply takes my hand and smiles, and we get to my car in silence.

I like silences, they are easier than trying to hold a fake conversation, plus they require little to no effort. She drives with me to the barn and while I put Dashing Blizzard in for the night and feed him, she chats with Ariane.

We arrive late at the party, but no one is really surprised, and since I'm one of the few riders who's under twenty-one, everyone laughs and calls out a bottle of milk for the baby. The bartender shakes his head with an amused smile; this is getting old. Apparently, no one else but he and I seem to think so. He slides a large glass of pink lemonade my way and I thank him with a nod. Olivia's arm is sloppily wrapped around my waist, and she lets me have a few sips of her beer when the bartender's back is turned. The loud country music drags everyone on the dance floor, and we are no exception.

"God, you're still really bad at this!" she says into my ear, and her hands on my hips guiding my moves is distracting me, especially when her thumbs slip under my shirt and rub the skin right above my belt.

"You're not helping." I groan as I frown, trying to get the tempo right.

"Am I?" She purrs in my hair, her body pressed up against mine, her hips molded to mine, and her hands definitely not guiding my dance moves anymore; fingers sprawled under my shirt, she's slowly reaching up.

I restrain a moan just on time and I push them down, back over my shirt and on a chaste place. I scowl at her, but she giggles as the song ends and she lets go of me. We go back to sit at a table at the far end corner of the bar, and we sip at our drinks for a moment, just watching the flow of people evolving to the band playing enthusiastically.

"Ready to go?" she asks after a few minutes as she puts her empty bottle of beer down.

I nod and I get up to go pay while she gets out of the bar without saying goodbye to anyone; that's something I like about her. She doesn't care about anything. I wish I could do the same, but as secretive as I could be, I still cared, shamefully, about what others would think of me if I simply sneaked out. I receive a few pats on the back for my first race and also a few teasing remarks on my choice of company, but I brush them off with eye rolls and smirks. Everyone is well drowned in alcohol by now, and I almost regret not staying because I know the mechanic bull is about to be awoken from his long sleep. 

I lace my arms around Olivia's waist when I finally walk outside and see her smile from behind her cigarette. I blow on the smoke that comes in my face before kissing her passionately. She smiles, her eyes closed, and rubs her nose against mine. She puts out her cigarette to lead us towards her truck. I didn't know she smoked, but it's also true we hadn't seen each other in a while. I haven't been to rodeos for a long time, probably ever since my mother got sick.

"So, how come you weren't at the last rodeos?"

I knew she'd ask, and I know it's out of curiosity and it's not meant to make me feel like I'm trapped: lie or open up, and neither of these options is very attractive right now. I groan, my gaze focusing on the road ahead and trying to think of something that could be an in between.

"You know, school and stuff."

That's only half a lie, because she knows that I don't care much about school since I already have my eyes set on what I'd like to do with my life, but at the same time, it's true. I've had to focus more on school for the last few weeks. And stuff is just a vague explanation of my mother being too sick to pay our bills, so I had to keep every penny I earned to do that, and keep us both fed. She squeezes at my thigh and I can't help the tears building up in my eyes.

"Hey, baby, it's alright. I missed you, that's all."

I nod, and I hope she won't point out the lone tear that falls down my cheek. She doesn't say anything, instead just rubbing her thumb over the wet trail and smiling fondly. She revives the stereo once we're out of town, and she puts the volume up. I thank her for the distraction and as she tries to harmonize to the song currently playing, I let some other tears slip out, because it feels good, sometimes, to just cry.

It takes about twenty minutes to get to her flat, and by that time, my eyes are already dry and I've resumed singing my head off with Olivia. She lives on campus in the next town, and I have thought about going to college here, but it's not far enough for me to not go back home every night. Olivia sees me eying the building with about thirty small apartments, all rented to college students, and she laces her arms around my waist from behind.

"Are you thinking of going to college here next year?" She asks with some sort of hope in her tone, and I wonder if she'd like that.

"Nah, I want to go somewhere far away, somewhere I can't come back in this boring small town every night and see the same trees every day. I am done with this village."

I turn around, all conversational intentions gone from my face, and lean in to kiss her. She smiles on my lips and pushes me backwards, until I am pressed against the brick wall.

"You could come live with me." She murmurs on my neck. "And then we could do this," she slips a hand under my shirt and to my ribs, "without having to wait for a rodeo."

I let my head tilt backwards, wincing slightly when it hits the hard wall, and I can barely focus on what she is saying when her fingers are caressing my skin and making me burn so passionately.

"And maybe we can take this inside." I growl when she nibs at the sensitive skin on my collar bone and I really don't want her to stop, but I also don't want to be arrested for public indecency.

She chuckles and takes my hand in hers before opening the door. I didn't know I was cold until a shiver runs through my spine, giving me goosebumps while I wait for Olivia to call the lift. Instinctively, I press myself into her side, trying to gather as much of her body heath as these clothes barriers let me, and I sigh contently. It is comfortable to know I can lean against her and she will hold me.

I trust her more than any other of my friends, which is probably why I allow myself to do that. Our relationship might not be the most romantic thing ever, but that's okay because that is both what we want. Maybe that's where it's coming from, this easiness around her; I don't feel pressured to add feelings into this whole mix of whatever.

We're finally in her apartment and as soon as she's closed the door, I push her against it and kiss her hard. I'm not usually the one to be so needy, but I'm done caring about how I might look like for the night. I am craving for Olivia's hands on me, for her lips to make me forget where I am, and I want her to know just how much these past seven months without going to rodeos has made me miss her. She chuckles in the kiss, obviously surprised by my hands roaming so freely under her shirt, but I have no intention to stop.

"Bedroom. Now." I breathe out between two kisses.

"Somebody's needy." She retorts, pushing me slightly backwards before flipping us over so I'm now pinned against the wall. "How about we practice patience, uh?"

I growl softly when her teeth graze my ear lobe and shake my head. I've been patient enough during the last half year. I manage to push myself off the wall and press my hands on her hips, backing her towards her bedroom. We don't bother switching on lights; I'd know my way eyes closed, which is pretty much what I'm doing right now, pecking at Olivia's lips with eyes half shut.

"I've been patient enough, I want you. Now."

Olivia has always liked my assertiveness and my confidence, and I've learned that really quickly. I push at her hips once more and it swings open her bedroom door. I make quick work of her denim button up, stopping only for a moment to admire her full breasts. I kept hoping mine would one day pop out of my chest, but they never really did. She smiles a smug smile, knowing all too well what I think of a girl in nothing but high waist jeans and a black bra. I bite at my lower lip, blood pumping heatedly in my veins, and lead her to the unmade bed.

I lie awake in the soft light coming from the large balcony window, an arm curled under my skull and Olivia fast asleep beside me. It's hot even for four in the morning, and my hair has dried glued to my face; I am covered with a fine layer of sweat but not all of it is mine. I turn on my side and look at the girl beside me, who's sleeping so soundly. I am tired, and I have been calling for sleep for two hours, but it won't come. I find that it's more common for me to have sleepless nights now that my mother is getting better than before. I refuse to dive too deep into that, so instead, I extend the hand resting on my hip and stroke a lazy circle on Olivia's bare back.

"Mmmh?" she mumbles a few seconds later and I feel bad for a split second.

"I think I'm gonna go home." The words are out of my mouth before I can really think about them.

"Babe, it's..." she lifts her heavy head just enough to squint at the digital clock beside the bed "four in the morning. Can't you wait for, well... a few hours? I'll make you breakfast."

I know the logical answer is _yes, of course, sorry to wake you up, it was a stupid thought_ but it's not what my mouth says.

"I'll walk, it's okay. I just wanted to let you know."

She's awake now and she grabs my wrist when I try to leave the bed. Concern filling her eyes, she rubs a soothing pattern on the sensitive skin inside my arm. I must not have the best poker face because when I smile, she frowns.

"You can talk to me, Dan. I know it's not what we do, but I care for you, you know? I'm not your girlfriend, I don't know if I can say I'm your friend, but I'm here. You don't have to hide with me, I won't judge."

It's the first time she has said anything this honest in two years and it makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't want this relationship to develop more, I've already let her in further than I intended. I know I'm attached to her, maybe not as much as I'm _attracted_ to her, but her words make a giant warning sign blink furiously in my brain. I smile with as much sincerity as I can muster without looking panicked. I pat her hand and liberate my wrist.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. I'm fine, I just want to go home." I know I need to have a better excuse than that, so I frown and think fast. "I have a couple of lessons tomorrow and a big exam on Monday, I need some rest."

She smiles and nods, but I know she probably didn't buy it. I just hope she thinks maybe Arianes rule of no work after a competition has changed. She stirs and I am tempted to take back everything I said when I see her toned stomach stretched upwards; I could just shrug it off and kiss her, reanimate a fire I know we would've ignite again in the morning. The thought of fire reminds me of about three months ago, when I came back home to a house filled with smoke because my mother had forgotten a cake in the oven and it had burnt. My heart wrenches at the thought and I scurry out of the bed.

"Come on, I'll drive you back. It's a hell of a long walk, especially alone."

I am ready to protest, but I am quite nervous now, wondering if my mom is sound asleep or if she might be in trouble. I made sure to tell her I wouldn't come back for the night so she isn't expecting me until a few hours. I nod at Olivia's suggestion and I get dressed quickly.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out once we're in front of my little house.

I don't need to precise what I'm sorry for, she simply nods and pecks at my lips once. I open the passenger door and smile softly at her.

"I'll see you around, eh?" I ask, scratching the back of my head while my brain is already unlocking the front door.

"Yeah, sure thing." I'm about to swing the door shut when she calls out for me again. "And, Dan, I meant what I said, okay? This doesn't need to be just a sex thing without becoming a full on relationship; we're both humans with emotions, we can share some. Promise I won't run away unless you confess your love."

I chuckle at that because I remember when Olivia told me the first girl she dated said the three little words on their second week together and she literally ran away in the middle of their dinner. I nod, for good measure but with no real intention of opening up. I like this that way; not mixing my personal life with whatever it is I have with her. It's my safe place, and I have every intentions of keeping it that way.

"'Kay, I'm gonna go back to sleep now. Say hi to your mom from me.” she says right before I shut the door and wave at her in acknowledgment.

I pray for the door to unlock smoothly, but I don't have such luck at half past four in the morning. I have to shoulder it open and it slams against the wall inside, making me cringe as the sound resonates loudly in the silent house. I close it softly, pushing hard against it so I can lock it from inside. I tiptoe to the kitchen and one look outside the window lets me know that going back to bed isn't an option, so I flick on the coffee machine. The sun is slowly lighting everything on fire on the horizon line, and I sigh. Six years later and the sun rising above the treeline is still my favorite thing about this place. I hear footsteps thudding lightly in the living room and I curse under my breath.

"Dan, is that you?" My mother asks in a bleary voice.

"Sssh, go back to bed, mom, it's alright. I'm sorry I woke you up." I collect her frail shoulders in my arms and hug her tightly.

"Why are you home? I thought you slept at Olivia's?" She rubs at her eyes and I soothe her messy hair.

"It doesn't matter, mom. Go back to sleep, I'll see you in a few hours." I wrap an arm around her waist and guide her to her bedroom again.

" 'Night, darling." She yawns, dragging her feet to her bed as I close her door softly.

Back in the kitchen, I craddle my favorite mug filled to the brim with hot coffee in my hands and hop on the counter. With my legs crossed, I add sugar and a cloud of milk in the dark liquid and I stare out the window, watching the sun caress the sleepy scenery with warm rays. I'm glad for Ariane's competition rule. That means I can go to the barn and do my lessons without worrying about scheduled chores. I reach for my phone, tucked in the back pocket of my jeans, and I am surprised to see that Olivia has sent me a text. ' _Want a special lunch today to make up for the breakfast you're going to miss?_ ' I smile and instinctively look around to confirm no one has seen the text, before remembering I'm alone. ' _Sure thing; the red café at one?'_ I hit send and decide to go for a run before breakfast, leaving my phone on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! so there's that! I promise things pick up in the upcoming chapters, and i'm still writing more! I've got another 6 chapters already done ahead, and finishing up the 7th, so we're getting there! thanks for reading and as always, let me know what you think. Oooh! anybody has any idea how they're gonna meet??


	7. ZOE: shadows in light

### ZOE: shadows in light

It takes a week and a half before I stop waking up with a startle every morning, panic building up in my chest as I observe the foreign surroundings. It takes me six days to navigate around the five acres of land my uncle owns without getting lost, but it only takes a day to memorize all the horses' names. The day after I arrived, my uncle handed me a hand-drawn map of the domain, which is sprawled on the wall next to the door.

I smile to myself when I open my eyes and recognize the white ceiling with the glow in the dark stars and planets scattered above the bed. I point my finger upwards and trace an invisible constellation I had imagined when I was younger. I sigh with contentment because it is a relief to wake up and not wonder where I am for the first time. I listen to the birds singing happily from the open window and consider just staying in bed today.

A shy series of knock at my door makes me sit up as I wait for my uncle to come in. He smiles fondly at me, holding up a cup of coffee from the now completely open door. I clap my hands softly; his face is bright with contentment and he gives me the cup with a good morning kiss on top of my head. I might be twenty-one, but these little attentions have grown on me. My mother used to wake me up with a back rub when I was going to school. I thank him and sip at my coffee, watching him walk out of my bedroom.

After the first day, he asked me what time I would like to get up the next morning and I told him to wake me when he would get up. He looked at me with a funny expression but nodded. I should have known that a man who has a barn to run almost all by himself would get up before the birds started singing. Since then, we agreed he would wake me up at seven in the morning, so three hours after he had gotten up. By then, I know he has cleaned the turnout fields where the horses were the day before, evened out the sand of the inside riding hall and checked all the paddocks fences.

I come down a few minutes later, my tangled curls rallied on top of my head in a messy bun, a black tank top and a pair of ragged jeans on. We eat in the warmth of the morning and I lift my face to the sun already shining bright; today is going to be hot, but if I say that every morning, it'll become redundant a week from now. It's always hot here, from seven in the morning to seven at night, the temperature only rises. I'm excited for today because I will ride Tater Tots for the first time since his arrival, five days ago.

"Are you going to jump today?" My uncle asks between two bites of oatmeal and folding the newspaper he reads everyday.

"No, I want to take him to the inside and outside rings so he'll know both. I'm just going to do some basic exercises. He's a cool horse, though, shouldn't have any problems getting him accustomed to the new surroundings."

He nods slowly, going back to his reading while I go back to my own scheduling. When I first looked at the lesson board in the tack room, I had to run to my uncle and ask him about it. Nothing was organized and some horses were never used while others were constantly on the board. I offered to do it all over, and he agreed, but it is proving to be harder than I thought. I scribble a couple of notes in the notebook I have open in front of me.

"I'll take Grace with me today. She is really nice and she used to go to that school, so she might get recognized. That's sure to bring more attention on us."

My uncle nods again, and this is something I will have to get accustomed to; his lack of conversational skills. I focus back again on the schedule and clear my plate at the same time. I write down a list of the things I have to do, in order of importance, and I stare at the page filled in minutes. I never imagined life as a right hand of a barn would be so much work excluding horses. I have to read the list twice, hoping maybe I put something on twice. But no, everything is there once and it all needs to be done before three this afternoon. I take a long breath and hold it in, determined to not let this long list of chores get me down. _You can do this; if you can handle three shows per week-end, you can handle a handful of tasks before a time limit_. I put my plate in the sink, acquiescing to each of my word with a small nod.

"I'm going to feed the horses and start with the stalls." I announce, planting a kiss on my uncle's cheek.

I see a corner of his lips flick upwards but he doesn't look my way, his eyes going from left to right over the newspaper article. It’s kind of unsettling to live with someone who speak so little, as I have a tendency to overshare a lot. My mouth opens and closes a few times before I simply shrug and walk away.

The stables have that very particular stable smell; not quite stinking, but not the kind of smell you’d want for your living room. It smells of fresh shavings, velvet noses, oats and hay, tangled with manure and an odd, faint but relentless, perfume of Mane N Tail. I take it all in as I flick the lights on. One by one, the yellow neons buzz to life and with each spots lighting up the alley, I see a head on each side pop out. A choir of nickers and whinnies welcome me as I make my way to the feed room.

The list of what each lesson horse gets, depending on whether they have class or training that day, greets me behind the door. I’m grateful that my uncle at least charted it as a plan of the stable because not all the horses have nameplates on their box door. I prepare the first left aisle of five horses, and make my way to them, with the buckets in hand.

It takes me a good half hour to feed all fifteen horses, but once that is done, I lose no time moving to my next task. A well-fed horse is one less likely to be antsy about me being in their box. I decide to start mucking the stalls of the horses who’ll be used for the morning lessons. That way, students won’t have to walk in pellets of dirty shavings.

It doesn’t take long before I shrug my shirt off, shoveling pee matted shavings in a wheelbarrow right outside the box in jeans and a sports bra. Horse hair gets stuck to my sweaty face and I have to push away many of the horses who think my heavy breathing means playtime.

The sun has set high in the clear sky when I walk out of the freshly mucked out stable, and my stomach longs for a lunch break. I look at my watch; it’s just about eleven thirty, no wonder I’m starving. For a second, I wonder if I could go through the second barn, turnout the boarding horses on the schedule before I go back to grab a bite.

I still have to stop by the copy store and pick up the flyers I ordered, drive to the town’s highschool and ride Tots. If I skip lunch, I could go put the horses in the field, tack up Tots and bring him out for some twenty minute ride, then head home to change and drive to the city. If I’m efficient enough, I should be at the school’s entrance right at the bell.

But I can’t skip lunch. I sigh, putting a hand over my toned stomach. I’ve worked too hard to get here, I’m not going to screw it up again. I can do this. I repeat it to myself as I force my legs to move towards the house instead of the other barn. I put my moist tank top back on for good measure before walking in.

My uncle smiles at me and puts a plate with a sandwich and cut up veggies on the table. He pours two glasses of iced tea and sits down. It’s almost like he’s spent the last four hours right here. The only signs he’s been out too are the dirty boots by the front door and his previously tucked in shirt is out.

“You’re a relentless worker, Zoe. I saw you in the stable earlier; a marvel to look at. I’m really glad you’re here.” He clears his throat right after, avoiding eye contact, and gently pats my forearm.

I’m sticky with sweat, and I’m certain my deodorant has faded long ago. My uncle doesn’t seem bothered by it, though, and he starts eating in silence. I smile fondly at him, watching this gorilla of a man look so uneasy simply because he gave me compliments.

My uncle offers to drive me into town and I accept, thankful I won’t have to get lost in all the dirt roads there are.

I feel like I’m in a movie when I set foot in the street. Or simply dreaming. I can see a dinner, a tack shop, a small coffee house, the general store, and the grocery store all on the same stretch of main street. I delight at the rustic architecture, as if time had stopped in the nineties over here. There’s a bunch of people walking, and everyone says hi to my uncle. He tells me he’s going to get coffee, and I make my way to the intersection, intent on finding the copy store.

A hand falls on my shoulder just as I’m about to cross and makes me twirl around. I can’t believe my eyes once they settle on the oh so familiar face.

“Zoe?” The tall, lean, platinum blonde woman asks, a big smile splitting her thin face in half.

“Ellis? Ellis Preston? Is that you?” I push a few strands of hair out of my face to clear my vision, but I would recognize that face anywhere.

Ellis had been my best friend since I could remember. We had kind of fallen out of touch when I stopped coming over during summers. I had no idea she was still living here.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, but her questions feels more like; are you staying for long?

“I moved in with my uncle, you remember him? Jackson Cameron, he owns Black Forest Stables, right up the main road?” I say excitedly, my brain already churning.

“Oh my goodness! That’s your uncle’s place? I have been eyeing his newest facilities for boarding. My parents have moved out; they sold the stables and I’m just housing my horses near my house, but I don’t have a good arena to train.” she replies enthusiastically, linking our arms together. “Are you in a hurry? We _so_ need to catch up.” she wiggles her left hand in front of her and I gasp as the rock sitting on her finger glitters in the sun.

“I have to pick up flyers at the store, but if you’re not busy, you should totally come with me!” I’m already hauling her with me. “You can tell me everything about this ring right after we’re done distributing them at the highschool nearby.”

She chuckles, leaning her head on my shoulder as we walk together. Ellis had never been the kind of friends for public displays of affection, but I guess six years apart will make an exception to that. I wrap my hand over hers, sighing with contempt; I’ve always liked her a lot and wished we’d get to spend more than two weeks per summer together.

I remember when I would arrive at my uncle’s house, she’d already be in his living room, chatting with my aunt about her newest prowess in jumping. She was born into a ridiculously rich family, and by ridiculous I mean they could’ve bought this entire _town_ had they wanted to. Instead, they had settled for this 30 acres farm that covered half of the town’s border and flew in Olympic trainers to teach their only daughter. I’m surprised they sold the stables, but they were already well in their forties when Ellis was a child. I can’t imagine having to keep such an enormous domaine tidy and clean.

“If your parents sold the farm, where do they live now?” I ask innocently.

She stays quiet; that in and of itself is unusual as Ellis _loves_ to talk about herself and her parents. I look at her with a furrowed brow, concern dropping the corners of my mouth. She takes a deep breath in and looks back up to me, eyes shining bright with tears.

“My dad died three years ago, right after they sold. Brain cancer. My mother couldn’t stand this view anymore, so she moved to France.” I feel like there’s something she’s not telling me, but I decide not to push (for once).

“I’m sorry, El, I didn’t know.” I offer meekly.

She scoffs, and it stabs me right in the heart, but she doesn’t add anything else. We get to the front door of the copy store and she silently untangles our arms. I grab her hand back, but she pulls it away a little sharply and shoves it in her pants pocket.

“I should go. It was, uh, it was nice to see you again. Take care, Zoe.” She turns away and I stand speechless for a few seconds.

“Ellis, wait!” I let go of the door handle and jog up to her; she stops but doesn’t turn back to face me. “I’m sorry, I really am, El. Please, come with me. We’ll just hand out the flyers, and then we can grab a coffee.”

I’m talking to her stiff shoulders, but I can see her jawline moving. She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose as she pivots around.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. Of course I’ll come with.” she has regained a bright, pink lipped smile.

I smile too, and I open my arms wide. She walks into it with a hearty chuckle and we hug for a long time. It feels so good to rekindle with Ellis; only then do I truly realize how much I’ve missed friends my own age.

We walk back to the store and pick up the flyers, but I can’t push away the nagging feeling that something feels off. Like Ellis agreed but her heart isn’t all into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! If anybody is interested, I post some photography and little characters development snippets from short prompts. Head over to overthefencebook.tumblr.com :)


	8. DANIELA : hard and fast

### DANIELLA: hard and fast

I’m just about to skip the song on my iPod, music loud through my set of headphone, walking out of the school, when a hand falls on my forearm. I stop, shocked at the intrusion of my personal bubble, and look at the short, clean nails at the end of the long fingers. I’m about to open my mouth and say something when my eyes actually follow the toned forearm to the muscular bicep, to the pastel pink clothed shoulder and finally reach a blinding white smile framed by curly dark brown hair. I smirk, shrugging off the hand and I start walking away. I’m ready to leave this jolly girl to whatever she’s doing, when I catch a bribe of something her nearby friend says.

“…you, she’s probably some antisocial bitch.”

I scoff and spin around, my eyes sending daggers in the second girl’s direction. She looks older than the other one, creases around her eyes, and she is tall, but skinny tall, not athletic tall like the brunette. She has pale blonde hair, pulled back in a tight bun that makes her face even more pointy.  She is sending back the same cold stare, except her eyes are a dark shade of emerald. If she hadn’t insulted me in my back, I would probably have thought she’s pretty, but she makes me wants to spit at her.

“Excuse me, what did you call me?”

I see the brunette’s eyes dart between the two of us and I frown slightly. I’m still waiting on an answer when Curlyhead pulls back Goldylocks by the sleeve of her jacket. She smiles at me, shrugs a shoulder and hands me the flyer in her hand.

“Hi, I’m Zoe, I’m new in town. ” God, even her voice sounds jolly; what’s up with that? “We’re recruiting new students for Black Forest Stables. It’s about ten minutes from here, and we’re a showjumping barn. We’re looking for riders who are interested in joining us to compete up the ladder with our horses. Any interests?”

I can’t contain a snicker and now, she’s the one frowning. I keep snorting as I shake my head and turn away. She follows me, confusion making her look more like a puppy, if possible. She grabs my wrist, again, and I spin around, lips pursed. If she makes me miss my bus, I’ll be more than annoyed.

“Wait, why are you mocking us?” She really believes herself, looking so butthurt. “Do you think this is a joke? I’m a trainer there, and I’ve won multiple national championships, this isn’t just hobby riding. We have amazing horses from great jumping lines. Whoever rides with us is guaranteed the best.”

She lets go of my wrist and puts her hands on her hips, demanding an explanation. I shake my head again; I don’t feel like picking a fight right now, and I’m going to have to walk if I don’t get rid of this stranger soon.

“Look, I don’t even ride. I gotta go.”

That is a lie she probably won’t believe, especially with my Women’s Barrel Racing Association t-shirt and my brown leather cowboy boots, but I couldn’t care less. She eyes me from head to toe with a pout, and I roll my eyes, taking off for good. I nearly run into a third girl passing flyers and I scoff as if I wasn't the one who didn't look.

I manage to get in the bus just on time and the driver gives me a pointed look. I make my way to the back of the bus, and I catch a piece of licorice right before it hits me. Vivian is snickering and I just roll my eyes at her, chewing the sweets.

“What was it today? Principal wanted to talk to you about your math homework that you didn’t do since last year?”

She jokes, and I can’t help but laugh; I can’t even remember the last time I did a homework for that class. I shake my head, fishing out a new piece of licorice and I show her the crippled flyer that I shoved into the side pocket of my backpack.

“Wow, these girls have some steel balls, coming after the biggest cowgirl of the school for showjumping auditions!”

I scoff, ready to rant, before realizing she’s messing with me and I roll my eyes. I mutter a ‘whatever’ and toss the flyer out the window. A solid glare from the driver has me grimacing and I slouch in my seat. The flyer and the idea of _me_ jumping fences in some tight riding pants is brushed off my mind quickly when I see the field where my big fat mare is. I smile despite myself when I see her head jolt up at the sound of the yellow vehicle, and she starts trotting with it, knowing that I’m coming.

Vivian is coming with me today since it’s Friday. I don’t have any homework to do and I start work only at half past four. Since she’s seen me ride Dash the Saturday before, she’s been pestering me to come with me at the stable and hang out with my horses. I only agreed because she’s good company, but made her promise not to tell the others; last thing I need is to have my sanctuary made public. With our deal spat and shaken on, we’re now walking through the main aisle together. I see Ariane walking by with a frown and I stop so abruptly Vivian rushes into me, but my feet are solid and she swears in surprise.

“Hey, Ariane, is everything alright?”

She is startled by my voice, and I’m the one frowning; there isn’t a lot that makes Ariane so deep in her thought that she gets jumpy. I jog to her, waving for Vivian to just hang back. She shrugs and walks towards one of the head’s popping out of a stall. She sighs, handing me a flyer that was obviously stapled somewhere, and by someone who didn’t want it ripped off. It’s the same flyer as the ones the girls at my school were giving away and I feel a rise of anger boil my blood.

“There were three girls at my school today, trying to recruit students for their stupid jumping stuff. Did they put that up on the board?”

When she nods silently, I clench my fists in tight balls of fury. I look at what the ad says and I want to punch something, someone. Preferably Goldylocks; she’s surely the daughter of this snob owner.

_Black Forest Stables now recruiting show jumpers, hunters and dressage riders for advanced and competition winning training! Come join us for proper technique, ride champion-bred top of the line horses. We offer beginner, advanced and professional training programs destined to make a champion out of you, with the help of our registered mounts. Hard working, polyvalent and horse-savvy grooms demanded; great hours, competing hourly wage and in-house living provided with all amenities. Give us a call if interested!_

I don’t know how someone could do this, but I’m glad Ariane caught it before anyone else could see it. The paragraph doesn’t directly insult us, but I know they wrote it so that riders reading it, green riders and young ones too, would think that this barn isn’t any good.

I am furious as I storm off, forgetting Vivian. She catches up to me rapidly, jogging alongside my angry strides. She chooses to stay silent, which I appreciate, and we reach the back door of the stables. The dirt trail that leads to my mare’s field runs along Dashing Blizzard’s turnout area. I stop by to greet him, scratching behind his ear like a dog. Vivian stands back in respect of this chunk of a horse. I suddenly remember that she’s here to make contact so I wave at her to come closer.

“You remember Dash?” I ask, patting gently his thick neck.

“He’s the one you rode last week-end, ain’t he?” I nod and she extends a tentative hand towards him.

“He’s five, still a little green, so he needs lots of turnout time to just be a horse. It’s not good to overwork your horse if you want them to actually compete for a long time.” I look at Dash, neck stretched out to investigate Vivian’s hand; he’s most likely looking for a treat.

“Aren’t you cowboys supposed to be ruthless and just ride your horse no matter?” I roll my eyes and scoff at that; she’s seen one too many Western movies.

“Someone needs to stop watching Clinton Anderson videos.” I chuckle.

“He's fuckin’ big, how’d you get on him?”

As Dash sniffs her hand, she takes a step towards him and he ruffles the fabric on her shoulder with his upper lip. It makes her nose crinkle and she lifts her shoulders high, head tilted to the side. A solid and throaty laugh bubbles out of her parted lips and Dash looks properly amused by this. He bops his head a couple times in her direction and I chuckle myself.

“Bunch of nerds. Come on, we gotta get Layla; I can see her fuming from here.” I point further to the left, where the field borders the road.

Vivian throws in another cheek scratch before trotting up besides me.

“For fuck’s sake, Dan, for such a short legged gal, you sure got the power-walk down to a T.” she exclaims, her breath catching in her throat.

“Call me short one more time.” I grind my teeth, pouring all the venom I can in my voice, but it only makes Vivian explode in a rambunctious laughter.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” She slaps me on the back and I sigh; maybe this was a mistake after all. “Never said it wasn’t working for you.”

I decide to ignore the wiggling of her eyebrows or the suggestive smirk stretching her full lips, and just roll my eyes. We get to Layla’s field and she nickers happily. I unlock the gate, grabbing the halter and rope lead from the fence and push her back as I enter. Vivian props her hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. She’s observing with such an intense look, it makes me kind of uncomfortable. I clear my throat, stopping before I put Layla’s halter on. I swing the rope over her thick neck and look back at my friend. We’re a good ten feet to the entrance when I turn towards my friend.

“You wanna take her out?” My tone is as nonchalant as I can muster, watching closely as Vivian weighs her options.

I know very well she’s a proud person, and I know that my one raised eyebrow conveys a challenge I didn’t say. She smacks her lips and nods, but it looks more like a headshake. I smile wickedly and watch her slip through the fence nearest. She stumbles on the patchy and overturned grass, pushing her hands forward. Layla snorts, ears spiking up like radards and she instantly starts walking towards Vivian.

She stops dead in her tracks, and I barely stifle my snicker. I do have to admit that seeing Layla, a Percheron crossed with the smaller, stocky Canadian horse, walking decidedly towards you makes you think twice about saying hi. She’s my trail horse, standing at almost 17 hands tall, and she _loves_ people. She picks up to a lazy trot when Vivian stops a good seven feet away. Layla’s bi-color belly jiggles as she comes to a halt in front of a crisped Vivian. I can’t hold it back anymore and I laugh happily.

“Oh my God, I think I just peed.” Vivian exclaims before joining my laughter. “You’re such an asshole, Reed.”

She holds up a hand towards Layla’s velvety pink nose and she happily shoves it in her open palm. I join them when I can breathe normally again. I caress her massive neck, handing over the halter. I let Vivian try to put it on her, arms crossed and a grin on my face. She struggles for a few moments, Layla trying to help and lowering her head into any open space in the halter. It’s an old and worn nylon halter that was once bright teal, but has since faded to a polite turquoise. Vivian finally manages to put the lower part around Layla’s round nose. She tries to move her other hand holding the upper part towards Layla’s forehead. The mare simply follows the movement and Vivian stumbles forward, smacking into her chest.

Unfazed by the tackle of Vivian’s face, Layla dips her nose, wrapping her fat head over her back and dropping the halter.

“Need a hand?” I cackle.

She shakes her head, pushing herself upright from Layla’s chest. She takes a sharp deep breath in and tries again. This time, she’s holding on with a tight grip on the connecting strap. She’s putting pressure on Layla’s nose and she caresses up her cheek, sliding her arm between her ears to grab the crown piece. Layla’s confused by all this turmoil around her face and she shakes her off. Vivian has just enough time to pull the halter over her ears before she stumbles back under the strength of her shake. She has a triumphant smile brightening her pink cheeks.

“Alright, you can lead her back to the stable, then.” I point at the rope dangling around Layla’s neck.

Vivian gets super serious and she sternly maneuver Layla through the gate and on the track. She’s got a vice grip on the rope and it offers an amusing contrast with the way Layla’s head bobs up and down lazily, her feet almost dragging.

We enter the stable through a new door, since we took the long road back to avoid Dash’s pasture; he tends to get emotional when I take out someone other than him. Vivian looks confused.

“How many goddamn doors are there to this barn?” she asks, dumbfounded, and it makes me laugh.

“There’s one at each end of the aisles, one through the indoor arena, and if you’re lucky, the feed room’s backdoor isn’t blocked. Used to be one in the tack room, but we sealed it last year to put up more saddle hooks.”

She counts the two side alleys, plus the main one from which we entered, and I see her trying to figure out where the feed room can be. I silently point to the office surrounded by windows, through which she sees the nook with the closed door.

“What are you going to do with this chick today?” she asks, scratching at the base of Layla’s neck.

“I’m just going to ride her in the outside ring, gotta keep that hay belly off.” I pat her round abdomen a couple times with a smile.

“She kinda looks pregnant from that angle.” She chuckles. I scorn her. “ Oh, sorry, she’s just… well-fed.”

I snort, and resume brushing off the dried mud off her shoulder. Vivan stands on the other side of her, barely able to see me over her wither. I know she’s caressing her because Layla puts her rear foot to rest, her lower lip droopy as she hangs her head heavy on the chains. I work in silence, letting my friend make acquaintance with my mare.

It feels nice to have company, and in a way, Vivian reminds me of Olivia; this ease at which I find myself when she’s around, and their overall nonchalant attitudes. I mentally slap myself; there’s no need to be thinking of my friend as another Olivia, especially since it heavily implies a lack of clothes in the relationship. I tap Layla’s thigh gently, sliding my hand behind her hock to lift her foot.

No matter how many times I work with her to get her to give me her feet properly, this mare does not care. I struggle to wedge her foot between my knees and I poke her rather harshly in the thigh when she tries to rest her hip on me.

“Hey, Layla, how about you carry your own weight?” I strain to curry her foot rapidly.

Once i’m finally done, Vivian drags a hand down Layla’s wide topline, grimacing when she reaches her croup and her fingers are full of dirt.

“Dan, I think you missed a spot or two.” She claps her hands together to brush it off and I grunt.

“Why don’t you do it, then?” I might be overreacting, but it’s too much to admit I can’t see higher than her shoulder with my height.

Vivian shrugs, giggling to herself, and picks up the brush. She imitates my earlier movements and dislodges a big cloud of dust from Layla’s hip point. Before I can tell her to be careful in the sensitive area, Layla stomps her resting feet. Hard. It startles her and she drops the brush. I’ve crossed to the other side of my horse and I grab Vivian by the waist just before she ducks under her big belly.

“That’s definitely a bad idea.” I point out.

Vivian regains her balance, putting her hands over mine and I freeze for a second. She has the same look in her eyes as the one from the day I came out. I swallow a hard lump forming in my throat, but I can’t look away. She has dark brown eyes, almost black, and her thick eyelashes frame their near perfect oval shape. I see her gaze flick for a half second to my mouth, and I unconsciously lick my lips. She takes a step forward, and I step back. I hit the wooden wall with a soft thud.

She’s still looking at me with _intent_ and my heart races in my chest. Instinctively, I lower my hands to rest them on her ample hips. I see her breath catching in her throat and she gasps slightly, taking another tentative step. She’s inches away and all the air is sucked out of my lungs when she leans just that much closer.

I can feel her lips ghosting over mine, I can smell the cherry from the licorice on her breath. I tilt my chin up, eyes closed, and our lips meet as we both gasp for air.

My thoughts are scrambling, I feel my head go numb. She’s pushing against me, her chest right above mine. One of her hand snakes behind my neck and it takes all my will power to push on her hips, disconnecting our kiss.

“Vivian…” I’m too out of breath to say anything else.

Her tan cheeks have reddened, but she still has a bewildered look in her eyes. I feel my knees go weak for a split second. I hold myself up by crossing my arms over my heaving chest.

“You said she wasn’t your girlfriend, Dan.” I hear anger in her words, and I am quick to shake my head.

“She’s not. That’s not, that’s not it. Promise.” I’m at a loss for words, trying to understand why exactly I pushed her away.

“It’s okay, Reed. Don’t sweat it.” I see her regain composure, smiling in the softest way.

I feel like the world’s biggest asshole right now, but for some reason, all my body can think of doing is twisting my face in an ugly expression as my eyes fill with tears. Through gritted teeth and foggy eyes, I see just how taken aback Vivian is. She hesitates for a second, her hand half extended towards me, and she is about to say something. I clutch my torso tightly as I feel tears trickling down my cheeks. She decides to walk back right into my space and envelops me of her soft arms. She’s a few inches taller than me, and I find my face buried in her collarbone.

She holds me tight; the tighter she squeezes me, the harder I cry.

I can’t remember the last time I cried this intensely, or this long. I can’t remember the last time I cried for real, not just a few loose tears. I can feel the snot dripping out of my nose, my gaping mouth drooling all over her t-shirt. My eyes hurt, my jaw hurt, my stomach hurts, my chest feels too tight. I need to escape, I can’t breathe anymore; the more I try to gasp for air, the more my lungs collapse. It all goes so fast, I’m clutching at Vivian’s hips, digging my nails in her skin through fabric.

She stands there, her round and soft body firm like a rock, she feels so strong, indestructible, as my knees wobble and my self-control flee from my brain. I lose track of time; how long has it been? has anybody seen us, standing there? When I finally manage to stop the outpour of tears, I take one, two, three deep breaths before the world stops spinning. I realize we’re sitting down; I don’t remember sitting down.

Vivian holds my upper body by the shoulders, her gaze is soft but concerned, and she smiles in the purest way I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but reach a shaky hand to her plump cheek, wiping away a tear she didn’t notice. She kisses the inside of my palm and my lower lip quivers.

“Oh, no, no, no, Dan, I’m sorry, no, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She whispers rapidly, taking my hand in hers and squeezing tight.

I nod repeatedly, trying to convince myself that, yeah, I’m okay. I take a deep breath, blow it out of my mouth slowly. When I look back at her, I almost cringe. I am slowly coming back to my sense and boy, do I regret that outburst!

“I’m sorry, Viv, I don’t know what happened to me. I just… I don’t know!” I half-laugh at my own voice, strangled like another cry for help.

“It’s fine. Sometimes, you just gotta let it all out. You wanna talk about it?” There is such a nonchalance to the way she asks it that I find myself nodding before I can think of it.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t even know. I haven’t cried, like, for real, in years. I think it’s just a build-up, you know, with everything that’s happening with…” I trail off, realizing that she does not, in fact, know what’s happening.

Nobody does. My chest feels so constricted, and I haven’t felt this alone in forever. I take a deep breath in, and rest my head on her shoulder before speaking again.

“My mother lost her job over a year ago, and she got really depressed. I started to work more and more to pay the bills, but that could barely keep us afloat. Now, she’s doing better, but I’m just...I’m terrified, you know?”

The air I breathe in seems to reach my deprived lungs for the first time in years.

“Dan, I had no idea. If I'd known -" I trace the shape of her lip with my thumb to stop her.

“You couldn't have known. No one does. Did. That was the point.” something keeps me from telling her about my father leaving, maybe it’s the promise I made myself to keep everyone out.

“You should have told us, told me, I would've been there, Dan. You're like one of my best friend, and I didn't even know you were having a shitty year.”

I'm starting to regret telling her. She shakes her head, scoffing to herself, and she holds me just that much tighter.

“I'm here, Dan, I want to be there for you. I'm sorry I didn't see anything.”

I nod slowly and let my head fall back on her shoulder. Layla is observing us curiously, trying to nuzzle my knee but not quite reaching it. I sniffle and clear my throat.

“Do you still want to stay?” I'm not sure how to move away from everything that just happened.

“Sure, if you'll have me.” I bite back a saucy reply and simply nod.

She helps me back up and smiles with a new fondness. I can only deal with so much emotion at once. My gaze shifts away and I smile awkwardly. Before I can put my foot in my mouth, I gesture towards the tack room and walk away.

When I'm back with a large western saddle and a thick pad, Vivian is standing at Layla’s head. Her forehead is pressed on her cheek, shielding her face from my view. Her arm is lazily wrapped around her neck and I can see she's scratching her. I smile and stop for a second, taking in the view of such an easy moment.

Layla hears my footsteps picking up and she snorts in my direction. For a fat horse, she's always been quite eager to get under saddle. Granted, I usually take her out in the forest and she gets to graze a bunch. I don't think she'll appreciate this ride as much. It makes me smile as I walk up to them.

Vivian lifts her head and there's a quiver in her smile. I don't want to ask, I really don't, but my mouth has a mind of its own.

“You okay?” I don't like how harsh it comes out, so I duck under the chains and find myself squeezing her upper arm.

“Yeah, yeah, totally.” I can see she knows I'm not buying it. “I just feel so bad because you've been going through so much and it's stupid because like you're the one who's opening up and I'm just here making it about me.”

The heartless chuckles that follows rips a hole in my heart. Since when do I care so deeply about Vivian, or any of my other friends? I make an attempt at a smile that makes her giggle.

“Don't worry about it, Reed. I'm a big girl,” she slaps her hands on her stomach, “I can take the guilt. It's not your fault.”

I know she's talking about the way she feels. I know she doesn't mean what's happening in my life. I know that. I know it and yet, my eyes fill with tears again. She shakes her head, puts a hand on my face.

“Nope. Layla has been waiting long enough. Keep some for after.”

Somehow, even though I've been keeping this huge secret from her, Vivian still managed to get to know me.

I silently thank her with a last squeeze and I go around Layla again. I grab the rug and throw it on top of her in silence. Usually, I'll use a step to haul the saddle over her high wither, but since I've already made a fool of myself once today, I bend my knees and take a breath in. Pushing with my legs, I put the heavy saddle on my shoulder, then fling it with force over my head. It lands on Layla’s back with a thud and I manage to not grin from ear to ear.

Vivian watches as I unclip one of the chains from the halter. She tilts her head to the side when take it of her nose and slide the halter on Layla’s neck. Picking up the bridle, I click my tongue until Layla wakes up a little and lowers her head towards the bit. Once she's taken to it, I hold one of her ear and put it through the circle of the crownpiece. I hand the reins to Vivian and undo the throat latch to take off the halter. It dangles at the end of the chain on the wall as we walk away.

I let Vivian walk Layla to the principal door and open it for her.

“Alright, just stop there, I'll get on.” She brings Layla to a stop and I take the reins from her.

I usually use a step to get on her as well, to regain some more pride, I take a good hold of the horn. With a bend in my knee, I jump up and maneuver my upper body over the saddle. I land just a little forward, but putting my feet in my stirrup corrects my seating.

“Damn, girl, any other tricks you got?” She whistles in admiration.

The further we get from the barn, the further down I push my turmoil of feelings. By the time we reach the outdoor arena, it only feels like a tingle in the pit of my stomach. I can focus on telling Vivian what I'm doing as I start Layla at a long walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woooooooooo SO!!!!! who's excited??? :D


	9. ZOE: lost time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for eating disorder description

###  ZOE: lost time

I look at Ellis with shock. Grace joins us when she sees me frozen in place, and her face is painted with the same concern as Ellis.

“What happened, Zoe?” She asks, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“She was dismissed by this petty cowgirl.” Ellis snorts, obviously thinking this is hilarious.

“She was just so  _ rude _ .” I add, my lips hanging down.

“Dan? Girl in cowboy boots and Women's Barrel asso shirt?” Grace ask with unmistakable disdain in her voice.

“You know her?” I ask.

“Who doesn't,” Grace rolls her eyes before adding; “She's just a jerk who thinks she's better than everyone because she rides western.”

Ellis lifts her chin in the direction where this Dan left, scrunching up her nose.

“Come on guys, maybe she just doesn't like jumping. To each their own.” I finally say, but my mind is racing, trying to find a way to see her again.

I have never been disliked so instantly. It hurt way more than it probably should have, but I'm now determined to meet her and introduce myself properly. Maybe I was just too aggressive in trying to hand her the flyer. Surely she can't be as much of a jerk as Grace says.

I resume handing out flyers to the small flock of students still coming out, but my mind is not in it anymore.

“I have to get home, get started on dinner.” Ellis interrupts my train of thought with a soft smile.

“Oh, okay.” I can't help the disappointment in my voice. “Give me your number so we can see when would be a good time to get coffee?”

Ellis is taking her phone out when she suddenly stops to ponder something in her mind. She cocks her head and looks at me in a way I can't actually decipher.

“Why don't you come by later, say around 8, and we can have coffee at my house.” As the words come out, my heart feels lighter.

“I would love that vwet much, yeah.” I nod along my reply, smiling widely.

Grace puts her hand on my shoulder, clearing her throat. She tells me she has to go too, and we each make our way alone. I still have a lesson at five, and I'm hoping for a quick dinner so I can take some time to call my parents before heading to Ellis’. She scribbles her address on the back of a flyer and hands it to me.

On my way home, I decide to stop at this little barn and put up a poster on the outdoor bulletin board. Most of the other posters are ads for farriers, saddles or other tack for sale, one or two horses in need of a new home. My eye gets caught on one of them. It's an old grey mare, she's listed as a great kid ride, bombproof and with still many years to go. She doesn't look all that good; her hippoint is prominent, her croup is under muscled, and she has a swayed back. My heart goes out for that ill-conformed horse who would probably be much happier grazing in a field for her remaining years than teaching kids.

My hand rips a piece from the poster that has the seller's phone number without having to think about it.

I get home just before four and my uncle is nowhere to be seen. I write a note with the number on it and put it up on the fridge. I look at the weekly organizer to see if he has anything particular for today. There's a dentist appointment for a horse at four, so I make my way to the lesson horse barn.

He's holding the lead rope of Thunder, a 12 year old big and sturdy Thoroughbredhorse. He's a versatile guelding, reformed from the tracks, and I'm excited to try him out.  He was a regional champion in dressage before my uncle bought him at a discount as his previous owner lost his house to the bank. I remember seeing his progress from Facebook; he was in poor physical condition when he arrived last year. 

He's currently trying to lick the dentist's rasp, and both men chuckle lightheartedly. I do to, and my uncle turns towardsme; the other man follows his gaze after a second. I wave at my uncle and he motions for me to come closer.

“Mack, this is Zoe, my niece. She came to live with me and help with the training program. Fantastic rider, you should see her jump!” he exclaims, patting the round cheek of Thunder.

I blush, not expecting such praise all of a sudden. Mack tilts his head my way and I smile politely. My uncle wiggle his fingers near his chest and Mack looks back at him. He starts telling him about what's been happening with Thunder and I start to walk towards the office. I want to make sure I did everything on my list, but I stop when I hear my uncle answer an unspoken question.

When I turn, I see Mack moving his hands in short but elaborate movements. My uncle is frowning, watching intently, and it takes me a second too long to realize Mack is signing. 

It makes me feel proud, but I can't quite figure out why exactly. Maybe it's the way my uncle seemed to lighten up when he got the signs Mack was doing, or simply that he seemed so at ease with him.

I decide to drive to Ellis, but since I'm fairly new to the labyrinth of streets and back roads of the town, I get lost. I end up at the edge of a forest, in orange and pink lighting. Scratching my head, I take my phone out, but there's no service. I must've gone too far when I was supposed to turn left. My uncle's instructions weren't the clearest, if I'm honest.

I sigh, getting back in the truck. Maybe if I drive back from where I came from, I'll recognize the path I'm supposed to take, or at least I'll get cell service back.

I end up on a dimly lit street at 9pm, and I'm starting to feel really guilty, and panicky. I decide to stop at a two story house with the front porch light on. Stepping out again, I walk up the front stairs only to find someone sitting in a rocking chair on the veranda. 

“H-hi,” I stutter, suddenly quite embarrassed, “ I'm lost. I'm looking for Sequoia street?” 

The person looks up from their lap and I instantly recognize the girl from earlier today. I dart my eyes at her feet and sure enough, she's got the same cowboy boots on. Her hair is down, and she's ditched the jeans for loose light grey sweatpants. She squares her shoulders and I  _ know _ she recognized me. Her face scrunches up and it's kind of adorable.

“What are you doing here?” her words hit like a slap in the face and I take a step back.

“I-Sorry, I didn't know this was your house. I'm just… lost.” I reply, unsure how to go about this attitude of hers.

“Oh.” She clears her throat, and I think I can see a blush darkening her sharp cheeks. “Where you headed?”

Her voice has softened, but there's an edge to it, a sense of hurry almost. I repeat my destination, she writes down directions and rips the page from her notebook.

“Should be there in five minutes.” She mumbles.

I thank her and, still incredulous, walk back to my car. 

I make it to Ellis in less than five minutes, feeling pretty stupid for such a delay. I am tempted to simply turn around and m ake my way home, crafting a lenghty excuse the next time I'll see her.

She opens her front door and crosses her arms over her chest, staring directly at my truck before I can even put it in reverse. I sigh, ready to apologize profusely. 

I get out and walk briskly to her front porch.

“Oh goodness, you're okay!” She exclaims, opening her arms and wrapping me in a tight hug.

“I'm so sorry, El, I got lost and there was no cell service -" She shushes me gently, holding me by the shoulders and walking me inside.

Lilac immediately envelops me in a fresh aroma, and I smile. The front door opens to a small rez-de-chaussé with hardwood floors covered by a giant forest green rug. It runs up to the staircase, and on the left of it there's an opening. On my right, a half wall divides the living room. A couch is up to it, and a cat promptly jumps up and meows for attention.

“Do you remember Frizzy?” She asks, rubbing the cats head tenderly.

“She is still around and kicking, uh?” I scratch her chin.

She had had the kitten when we were eight, and she had always had a tendency to run into trouble. She turns her head to me and I am startled to see she's missing an eye.

“She did not agree with another cat, couple years ago when we were still at the barn.” Ellis shakes her head with a small chuckle.

Ellis takes me on a tour of the house and I can't help feeling like this is exactly the kind of home I'd love for my future wife. Another image replaces the warm lighting of the living room that Ellis just took me through. A woman, sitting in a rocking chair, a dog laying beside her, a small reading lamp casting orange glow on her face. She looks up at me, and I shove the image away with hurry; it's the girl from today. I half-convince myself that it's only because she made such a strong impression earlier.

I sigh, sitting at the kitchen table and Ellis pours two coffees.

“So, what made you move back here?” Ellis’ asks without missing a beat, and I think I can hear some undertones.

“I just finished college, and I wanted some change, some challenge.” I sip at my coffee, nodding to myself.

“What did you study?” The question is simple, and she seems genuinely interested, but it's another reminder of how far away we've grown that she doesn't even know my major.

“Equine studies, it wasn't even a choice to be honest, I always knew that's what I was gonna do.” 

The conversation falls, silence creeping up on us. I don't like the obvious tension between us. We're not two strangers meeting for the first time, we used to be best friends. I feel my heart tighten and it must show on my face because Ellis puts her hand on my forearm.

“I'm glad you're back, Zee.” Her voice is soft and it brings tears to my eyes.

“I'm sorry I had to  _ come back _ .” We both know what that means and she nods with a sad smile.

Another minute passes in silence before she clears her throat. Getting up, she puts her half empty mug and mine in the sink. Turning around, she shoots me a mischievous smile.

“Come on, let's not get depressive. We need something stronger.” She opens a cabinet and takes out a bottle of rum.

“I'm driving, El, I can't.” She waves me off and takes out Coke from the fridge.

She mixes the drinks, but I'm pretty sure there's barely any soda in there. When she hands me a glass half full with ice cubes, I subtly put it down. I haven't touched alcohol in a few years, maybe a beer here and there, but hard alcohol has been off my list of preferred drinks for a while. She doesn't seem to notice, and if she does, she doesn't say anything.

“Tell me about that big rock sitting on your finger.” I take her hand and admire the precious stone shining under the light.

“His name is Winn. He's a truck driver. I know it's not very… classy per say but he's such a sweet guy. Makes enough that I could quit working anytime and still afford this place.” She chuckles as she says it. “We met when my parents sold the farm. He bought one of my dad's Oldenburg for his niece. She's an amazing dressage rider, she's twelve, it's so cute to watch her on that 17 hand horse!” her eyes sparkle, but her smile falter a little when she looks down at her ring. “He's often gone for long period, though, that sucks.”

I squeeze her hand and she looks back to me.

“That just means we'll get to spend more time together till he comes home.” I try with enthusiasm.

“There's so much we need to catch up on.” She agrees, taking a large sip of her drink. “What about you? Anyone in your life?”

“Unfortunately, no. Still alone. I'm starting to think I should just adopt a bunch of dogs and open that rescue I've always wanted. If I can't find a wife, at least I'll have my pets.”

“Oh, Zee, don't say that. You're the most kind person I know, you'll find your Mrs Right soon enough.” She's the one squeezing my hand now.

Silence falls again upon us, and the same tension seems to build back up.

“I'm sorry I left so abruptly.” I blurt out after a minute.

She stays quiet, eyes fixed on her glass, twirling the ice in it.

“I got sick, El. That last summer, when I went back, everything was so confusing, it just got too much. I just… I didn't know what to do with myself anymore.” I haven't spoken about this for so long now, it seemed like ancient history.

Yet, I still felt it's chains around my neck every day. Every conscious and deliberate decision I have made has been a reminder of where I've been.

“What do you mean, sick?” Worry paints her words as a frown deepens her expression.

“After I went back to school, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was wrong. So, couple months in, I stopped eating, started obsessing with calories. I lost so much weight I had bruises from lying down. I just… could not stop.” my voice is hoarse, my throat tight as souvenirs of those years flash in my mind. “It got bad, really bad.”

I can't bring myself to say the words, to even murmur them, so I clench my fist and with my other hand, I lift the hem of my shirt. A circular scar, a little to the left of my belly button, just under my rib cage. The permanent reminder of the gastric tube they plugged in me so I wouldn't die, since I couldn't eat by myself anymore.

“At first, it wasn't so bad, you know? I could hide it. But when my hair started falling out, I was forced in therapy. I fought it, I thought  'if I can just reach this goal, one more'. Took me three years of therapy and weekly doctor's appointment. After that, I didn't feel like I could come back, I felt too ugly. I'm sorry.”

She's speechless. Her lips are tight, her eyes filled with tears, with unspoken words. I know she doesn't understand. My parents didn't understand. My high school friends didn't understand. No one did. I had everything; money, good parents, good grades, friends. I was meant to be happy. Yet, I could only find solace, peace, in controlling to the extreme what I was putting in my body.

I'm crying as well, and she reaches a hand to my cheek.

“Zoe, I'm sorry. That summer, I was a jerk. A real grade A asshole.” She starts, but I shake my head.

“This isn't because of you. This is me. I was sick, but I got better. I'm still getting better.” I take her hand, kisses the top of it and wrap it between mine.

“I should have reacted better when you told me you're a lesbian, Zoe. I'm so sorry for that.” 

I nod along. This was a long time ago, no need to rehash the past. 

“You were my best friend, we were so connected, I didn't know I could love someone like I love you without being  _ in love _ . I didn't know better, you didn't either. It's all said and done, it's okay.”

She stands up, opening her arms wide. It makes me smile as a sob makes my shoulders shake roughly. I hold on tight to her waist, my nose nuzzled in her neck, wrapped in the comfort of such a familiar embrace.

I leave without touching my rum and coke; she winks at me and pours it in the sink.

“Just tell me next time so I don't waste 3 ounces of good rum.”

I nod, feeling a little sheepish; I used to never worry about what I said to her and now i find myself embarrassed of speaking up. 

We sure have a long way to go before we're back to the way we were at fourteen.

Maybe we  _ can't. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try and update every Sunday from now on, and keep a six chapters advance. I'm also doing Camp Nanowrimo so maybe by the end of April this story will be all written, woo!! sorry for the spoiler, but I felt like a trigger warning was needed for this one :)


	10. DANIELLA: a midday sunset

###  DANIELLA: a midday sunset

I get home from riding with a light in my step. I can't tell what it is exactly, but I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Maybe I could carry the world, but maybe it's better to carry it with someone else.

I sit at the dining table while my mother is cooking dinner. It smells of rosemary and garlic. My stomach grumbles, impatient for her deliciously juicy turkey roast. I know green beans are sizzling in herb butter, and carrots and potatoes are floating around thick turkey breasts in the oven.

“How was your day?” She asks nonchalantly.

“It was good. Vivian came to the barn and she rode Layla after me. It was hilarious. She's so uncoordinated.” 

She looks at me with fine lines creasing around her eyes, her lips thinning with her smile.

“Do you have any homework before dinner?” I groan; of all the things she could've said next, she goes for the total buzz kill. 

I look down, playing with my leather bracelet. 

“Go. Shoo. Get them done so you won't have to scramble at nine Sunday evening. Dinner is in forty five minutes.” I let my chair scrape on the floor as I get up. “And no internet.”

She holds her hand in front of me, waiting. I moan,  agonizing, before putting my phone in her palm. After dragging my feet up the stairs,  I sit at my desk, my eyes falling on a picture of me sitting on Layla, my mother awkwardly groping the reins of a barely horse-sized quarter horse, her face tight with anxiety, but still smiling. That's my mother, smiling through it all. I wish I had her resilience, her good nature that made her forgive.

Or maybe I'm better the way I am, so no one can get the chance to hurt me in the first place.

I sigh; I won't be able to concentrate in my room. I take my history textbook and I tiptoe out the front door. Dragging the rocking chair in a sunny spot, I pull a knee to my chest, resting my homework against my leg. 

I'm cramping up and taking my first break when my mom creaks the door and leans outside. She's got a natural smile on, and nods towards the kitchen. I nod back, and leave my books outside; I know I'll have much more to do after dinner and the weather is still warm.

When I get to my phone (It was almost too easy, I expected a challenge from my mom), I have five new texts. Three from Vivian, two from Olivia. It feels kind of weird, but it's not like I cheated on Olivia, or I did anything bad. I scrunch up my nose, deciding to put replying after I shower.

I come out smelling fresh and nice, and put a pair of sweatpants with a tank top to get back outside. I slide my bare feet in my cowboy boots, mostly out of habit, before heading back on the porch.

“Don't stay up too late, Dan.” She calls right before the screen door swings shut.

I don't think I could stay up late even if I wanted to, as half an hour later, I find myself dozing off in the middle of a French homework. I jolt awake when I hear footsteps up the porch.

My heart races in my chest, my eyes recognizing the girl from earlier at school. The events of my night shuffle in my mind. I feel a buzz of electricity run through my body as the thought of punching that girl in the face crosses my mind. 

She hasn't done anything wrong, not really, and I realize I've spoken in a harsh tone when I see her flinch. It barely quells the anger boiling in my blood.

I watch her walk away and with every step between us, my heart settles lower in my heels.

“Wait!” I suddenly jump on my feet, skipping the steps.

The dust of her pickup on gravel is all I find in front of me. I grind my teeth; I will have to apologize next time I see her. I don't like the implication of ‘next time’, or how bothered I am by this present encounter. 

I begrudgingly go back to my homework, but I can't focus anymore.

\----------

My weekend went by so fast, I didn't realize it was Monday morning until my alarm went off. Stirring, I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder blade. I vividly remember yesterday's fall and I wince. I probably already have a bruise.

I get up, roll my shoulders with a grimace. At least there's still movement. I consider putting my sling on, but that would only worry my mother. I look at my bare chest in the mirror, lips thin with focus.

I see a dark patch under my left breast; where I hit the pommel before being propelled off. I hold my breath, turning around.

There it is.

There is a large, blue and purple hoof print just an inch left to my spine.

Definitely not going to ride this client's horse without lunging first. I guess three weeks of stall rest for an injured hoof did not agree with his fiery temperament.

I palpate my shoulder, sliding my fingers back until I wince in pain. I hiss: this better not be broken! Footsteps coming towards my door make me stumble back in bed just in time before my mother knocks. I'm eternally thankful she waits until I tell her to open it as it gives me enough time to hide under the blankets.

“Morning, baby.” She sing-songs.

“Hey, ma. Sleep good?” I feign sleepiness in my voice and barely avoid stretching again out of habit.

“Absolutely. You?” She sits at the edge of my bed, near my feet, and puts a warm hand on my ankle.

“Not so much. My throat hurts. I think I caught a cold or something.” For added accuracy, I clear my throat and make a face. “Would you mind if I stayed home today?”

She looks so intently at me, I'm sure she's discovered my lies. She puts a hand on my forehead, like she used to do when i was a kid,smiling, and nods. She gets up and gets to the door before she turns back around.

“Does this have anything to do with what happened Friday?” she asks so softly, barely above a whisper.

Images of my meltdown, Vivian kissing me, me kissing her right back, and even more vividly, the shadow of the brunette awkwardly standing on the front porch, everything flashes back in my mind. I shake my head, but my expression must tell another story because she frowns.

“Are you sure? Ariane called me that evening, asking if I could do some baking. For a bake sale? To boost the barns visibility?” 

I feel a rush of relief wash over me. I smile sheepishly and she chuckles before closing the door again. She opens it seconds later with a mischievous smile.

“You can tell her I'm in.”

I hear her go back downstairs and carefully step out of bed again. I lock the door for precaution, and examine my bruising scapula with care. I lift my shoulder up and down, fighting through the pain. Everything seems in place, I sigh with relief.

I head to the bathroom with careful steps and lock the door  behind me. I find what I was looking for after a few seconds, and sigh in relief. Looking over my non injured shoulder, I apply the pain relief cream slowly. Every time my fingers even simply brush over the darkest spots, horrible pain shoots through me.

I should most definitely not be thinking of how long I'll have to go to the barn before my mom gets back home from work.

Still.

It's not long before I hear the door closing. I get dressed slowly, realizing as I go that almost every movement I make involves my shoulder to some degree. The cream has done its job, though, and I can manage the residues of pain shooting through my body.

I swallow a few painkillers to help, and I ride my bike to the barn slowly.

“Morning,” I call out to anybody who might hear, poking my head in the office.

I find Ariane in the feed room, counting everything. I wave at her quietly and go back to her office. I scribble a note about my mom being on board for the bake sale, and that I'm out for a trail ride.

Layla is grazing peacefully when I reach her paddock. She nickers at me, then looks a bit confused; I don't usually come and see her this early. I chuckle, putting her halter on and leaving the rope around her neck. She follows me leisurely, her head bobbing to the dragging of her heavy hooves.

I realize I won't be able to put her saddle on about halfway through trying to brush off the dirt from her croup. For every movement of my left shoulder, a nauseating pain makes my head spin. For a second, I consider whether it's a good idea to go ride in the forest, but then again what am I supposed to do? Put Layla back, go home and sleep? Who does that with free day off school?

I put her bridle on, and attach a surcingle over a bareback mat. The surcingle isn't so much to mimic a saddle girth as it is to keep the mat in place. Layla has many qualities, but a comfortable bareback trot is not one of them. To insure my pelvis does not break in half, I have to use a cushioned rug.

Layla has the best temperament for trail rides, as she never bolts. I've put so much training in her since Ariane let me make her my official horse, that when she's unsure of something, she'll look at me for help. It's nice, most of the time. The less fun part is when she stands in her field for half an hour while I call, her mane caught in a tree, immobile. She had accepted her fate that day, and it took a good other fifteen minutes to untangle her long locks with the low branches.

How she became so tangle has always been a mystery.

When we're hacking out,  though, this means that she will stop and nudge my foot when something's bothering her. She also knows these woods better than me, I think. I am actually halfway convinced this horse is some sort of forest fairy.

I bring her all the way to the backdoor, so I won’t risk bumping into anybody. With the half door already open wide, I bring a clean bucket, turn it over and carefully try a foot on it. It seems to hold my weight good enough, so I add the second foot. So far so good, but as soon as I try to lean over Layla’s shoulder to get on, a moan gets strangled in my throat. She doesn’t move an inch, calmly waiting for me to catch my breath once more. When my shoulder finally becomes more bearable, I try again. This time, instead of leaning and adding weight progressively to get on, I hold my left arm tight against my chest. Grabbing firmly the top buckle of the surcingle, I bend my knees a few times, gaging how much swing I’ll need.

Layla stands still as I take a long breath in, push with my knees, and jump as high as I can. I wince, but I keep my balance with my core, arm secured on my torso, and manage to land somewhat correctly. I sigh deeply, only to realize there are tears in my eyes from all the straining.

“Its okay, you're okay,” I tell Layla, stroking her neck with long and calm movements.

She's not the one who needs to be reassured as I cluck and take hold of the reins. I'm still keeping my injured shoulder immobile by placing my left hand on my right thigh.

The crossed position isn't the most comfortable thing, but as Layla’s head bobs up and down, her body moving in a fluid and slow motion, it gets easier to adjust my own movements.

I'm dreaming away, mind racing towards something blurry. It feels like I'll hit a wall, but my thoughts keep spinning. It makes me dizzy, so I shut down my brain, focusing hard on picking apart all the hues of green and yellow, counting tree trunks that have fallen.

I find myself putting the reins down, barely holding them, letting Layla trot to wherever she'd like. We get to a small meadow an hour out, and damp moss cover half the trees, like a green curtain across from me. A smile softens my frown and I let Layla graze for a while, just sitting on her back, taking in the wild flowers, white as cotton, trembling in the fresh breeze. They keep company to high grass, and there's a dash of purple as wild violets pop in between the faded greens. The vibrant green of the moss offers almost a frame around this meadow and the ground seems soft under Layla’s large hooves, leaving deep prints in between bundles of crushed leaves.

I sigh; this is exactly why going for a trail ride was the best decision for today.

The air, heavy with perfumes you can't find anywhere else, fills my lungs with simplicity. My brain delights at the dream of living in such a special place one day.

Layla stops her grazing all at once, snorting loudly, ears pricked forward. Her nostrils are wide and she tenses up. I automatically take hold of my reins with two hands, gritting my teeth to keep them steady.

Suddenly, from the other side of the meadow, a figure trots out. A grey horse, with the whitest coat I have ever seen, prances out. His face is long and gorgeous, with wide and kind eyes. His ears are almost ready to fly off his head, perched high and mighty like two antennas. He's snorting loudly too, stepping in place like an impatient toddler. 

The gracious curve of his muscular neck shows he's not even being held in harsh manner. He doesn't have a flash noseband, barely a bridle.  There's a hoop going around his ear, and he seems to be ridden in a simple set; D ring, I see a hint of rubber, maybe a soft bit too.

In the midst of being impressed by this horse’s composure and built, I missed who's riding him.

I shut my mouth tight, and make a show of scoffing and rolling my eyes as soon as I make out a face under the helmet.

“Hey!” she calls out like we're best friends and it makes me nauseous; why so perky?

I remain silent, cursing myself for longing over her stupid clean horse.

“You're Dan, right?” she continues, gently stroking her horse's neck. “Zoe, remember?”

I want to say no. I so badly want to. I also want to not remember her in such vivid fashion.

“Yeah.” I croak out, straightening my shoulders on instinct.

I almost yelp in pain, but keep my composure until she looks down to hold her reins in one hand. She sits back in her saddle, and it almost look like she's comfortable; she can't possibly be, because there is nothing comfortable about the high seat, no horn, low back look of her English saddle.

“Is this your place?” she keeps asking questions, I wonder if she understands social cues. “It's so lovely out here. I've never been out here yet. I'm sorry if this is your domains, I didn't realize-"

“It is.” I'm hoping my dry tone will make her understand, even if it’s not really my place.

“Why are you being mean to me?” she suddenly blurts out, snapping her lips shut right after.

She seems as surprised by her question as I am, and it makes me sneer.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” I retort, shifting slightly to get Layla to turn around.

She does not want to move, and she sighs deeply, slowly dragging her feet and moving her hips.

“Hey!” she calls out, and suddenly she's right beside me and I strain to turn my head towards her.

“Why can't you leave me alone?” I know I sound harsher than I wanted, just like Friday night, when I see her smile quiver.

“Because.” She takes a deep breath, as if she's about to tell me the biggest news ever. “Because no one has ever disliked me like that without good reasons.”

“Who's to say I don't have good reasons?” I clench my lower leg around Layla’s round belly and she walks on.

I hear them following us, and she catches up rapidly in front of us, blocking our path out of the meadow. Layla resumes sniffing out the strange horse, snorting and occasionally pinning her ears.

“I know you don't have any because you've never even talked to me.” She lifts her chin, obviously proud of herself.

“I don't need to know every single elitist English rider out there to know I dislike you.” I state with a stern look.

She bursts out laughing. I feel my ears burning, as if what I've just said is unjustified. 

“Is this the age old debate English versus western? You've got to be kidding me!” she finally catches her breath, tightening her horse's reins as he tries to nibble on Layla’s cheek.

“No. This is just me not owing you anything. Now move out my way.” I steer Layla with one hand, guiding her around them.

Zoe is one stubborn person, and I can't hold back the groan as she simply backs her horse, blocking us again. I clench my jaw, moving Layla the other way. She follows. Her hands barely move and she seems glued in her seat. Squaring myself, I shoot her a meaningful look, but she just wiggles her eyebrows.

“What do you want.” I finally spit, propping my hand on the surcingle with a sigh.

“I suggest a challenge. If you can jump" she looks around and points behind me. “If you can jump this without falling, I'll never bother you again. If not, you have to go to lunch with me.”

I twist in my seat, looking at the fallen tree on the right of where she came from.

“I just have to jump this tree and you'll leave me alone? For good?” I ask, trying to sound as annoyed as possible.

“Yup.” she's grinning from ear to ear and it makes me irrationally twice as angry.

“Fine.” I squeeze my legs tightly and give a few kisses to set Layla in an active trot.

I manage to post it, shortening my reins and going around the meadow to get back into riding mode. Layla kind of butchers her transition into canter, but once she's found her balance, I bring her from the back of the meadow towards the tree in a straight line.

I count my strides, ignoring the flashing dots behind my eyeballs as pain makes me dizzy. Layla flies over the three feet jump like a breeze, but her landing is uncoordinated and the shock of her heavy front making contact with the ground cuts through my body.

I can't breathe anymore, and I feel myself letting go of the reins. Everything is blurry and I taste blood in my mouth. As she takes a second step of canter, lifting up her forelegs, my upper body slips. My legs are numb, I can't feel anything but my heart pumping blood, rushing it to my brain right before I see moss.

It's so vibrant, so green, but it does nothing to soften the blow to my head as it hits the log underneath.

The sky looks so pretty with all its orange and auburn hues, right before it gets dark, it reminds me of a summer sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SAHDAKJDHASJ sooooo! it's getting interesting, ain't it?!


	11. ZOE : the cap

###  ZOE

I'm undeniably proud of myself for achieving all my chores before lunch time. 

This morning, my uncle's usually quiet demeanor had woken me up as he stumbled out of his room. When I cracked my door open, I saw him rubbing sleep out of his eyes and it made me frown.

“Are you okay?” I had wrapped my arms around my waist, stepping out of my own room.

“Yes, don't worry. I'm sorry I woke you up. I overslept.” he had offered a shy smile.

After this, I couldn't go back to sleep. Turning in my bed, I'd finally decided to get up and found him yawning so hard I thought he was going to break his jaw.

“Hey, how about you take the day off, go ride or something, and I'll take care of everything.” 

He had given me a puzzled look, but the yawn that shook him next gave me a clear answer.

“Are you sure?” He seemed to think it through for a second. “No, no, I can't let you do all the work alone, that's crazy.” 

“You've been doing it alone.” I had pointed out, pouring a cup of coffee for myself.

He had stayed silent, nodding softly before sighing deeply.

“If it's alright with you, I guess one day off wouldn't hurt. Right?” he chuckled to himself, patting my hand on his shoulder.

“You go back up, get some more shut eye, I'll run this place.”

And so, he had gladly gotten up and as he walked up the stairs with a heavy foot, I sat down with a pen and paper. I had written all the chores that needed to be done before breakfast, and the ones needed before lunch.

Now, sipping at my fourth coffee, with my tasks all ticked off in front of me, I feel pretty good about myself. My grumbling stomach reminds me I still need breakfast. I open the fridge, gathering all the items to make an omelette. I hear the steps creaking and turn around.

My uncle is smiling at me, dressed and looking way better than this early morning. The sun pouring from the front door lights up his wrinkled face. I smile back at him, holding the egg carton in the air like a question and he nods quietly.

Once he's sitting, I pour him a coffee and sets it on the table with milk and sugar cubes.

“I haven't had anyone make me breakfast in a long time.” He says, sadness lacing his chuckle.

“I can fix that.” I plant a kiss on top of his head and squeeze his shoulder.

I crack four eggs in a bowl, adding cream, herbs and chopped shallots. As I pour the mixture in a pan, he stirs his coffee.

“Careful, I might get used to this.” 

I place a plate in front of him, fork on the left and giggle. I haven't cooked for someone in a long time either. I had forgotten how much I liked it. I sit across from him with my own plate and ponder on his words for a minute.

“Maybe I could do this more often.” It's half a question half a wonder.

“Oh, Zoe, you already do so much around here.”

“Yeah,” I shrug. “But it doesn't feel enough. I mean, we could rearrange the schedule so you get a few days off. At least, like, three mornings a week." I think a little more about it, he stays quiet. “Okay, so, I'll get up and do the morning chores; fences, paddocks, and all, on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I don't have late evening lessons Sundays and Wednesdays, and Tuesday is a slow day.”

“Zoe, I can't ask you to do this.” He doesn't sound convinced by his own words.

“You're not asking. I'm telling you. I like getting up early, I think it'll do me good.” I look at my hands, red from the work they're not used to do. “I just need to borrow some gloves.”

We both laugh. He says he'll buy me a pair when he goes in town today. 

“I did the clients stable before breakfast, so I have a few hours before lunch. I think I'll take Tots for a hack, is that okay?” I call from the front door. 

“Of course! If you follow the path of birch trees, you'll end up in a lovely meadow in about twenty minutes; take a sandwich, it's such a quiet spot, you'll love it.”

I thank him, assuring I'll be back before lunch and don't plan on having a picnic.

\----------

The quietness of the forest softens my racing mind and I breathe in deeply.

I haven't been on a trail since I moved in and I didn't realize how much I missed it before the roofs of the stables was indistinguishable between the trees. As Tots trots eagerly, ears pricked forward, I instinctively post his long and light strides.

I let him pick our trail, but it seems I've been unconsciously guiding him alongside the birch trees. I can see the meadow between the thick maples, and there's already someone there. I wonder what were the chances of there being someone else, and my face splits into a wide grin when I see  _ who _ is coincidentally here as well.

Tots is immediately drawn towards her horse. I quietly scratch his whither, so grateful for his excellent training as my reins stay loose and he doesn't rush. There is definitely a bounce in his step, but I'm used to him trying to be flashy without actually misbehaving.

I look at her looking at my horse and I feel a renewed tingle of pride straighten my shoulders. 

“Hey!” I call out, letting my horse approach her.

She doesn't reply and I'm almost vexed. I walk all the way up to her, letting Tots sniff her draft cross as I keep talking.

When she turns away, not answering my questions, I huff and give a slight squeeze with my leg. Tater Tots trots up vividly up to her, and stops almost square. She tries to elude me once more, and this time, I shift my right leg back a little and I press my ankle to my horse's side. My hands raise to be just in front of his shoulders, and I cluck. He canters off on his right leg, pulling up in front of them from the left, and pivoting on his right hind leg with a light shift in my hands. 

He stops at a soft cue and I square myself in my saddle. She is not getting off this easy this time. She finally gives up after I block her path numerous times.  _ She is one stubborn girl! _ , I think to myself as she asks what I want.

She is such a cliche cowgirl, with her hand lazily holding the reins, resting on the buckle of the surcingle.  She's even slouching a little on the left. All she needs is a cowboy hat to go with her short sleeved button up, her blue jeans and worn boots. Instead, she has a blue cap put on backwards. Her hair is loose under it, wavy and brown.

Apparently, she has the ego of a cowgirl too. I watch her cantering her mare around the meadow before she straightens herself and brings her over the jump. Surprisingly, she stays on, and I'm not sure if it was instinct or on purpose, but she even went over the jump in a two-point position. 

I don't have time to think too hard about it before she dives for the ground. There is something very worrying about the way she fell down and I run Tots over there.

I throw a leg over his neck and jump down, dropping to my knees right beside her. There is no apparent blood, but she can't keep her eyes open. Her cap is impressively still on.

“Dan? Dan! Stay with me, don't you dare go to sleep!” My voice cracks as I urgently shake her by the shoulder.

She doesn't react, limp under my touch. I take my phone out, barely hopeful, but there is no signal. I know I'm not far from my uncle's, so I take a deep breath, sliding an arm under her neck and the other under her knees.

She's heavier than she looks, but I manage to pick her up. Tots is inspecting the mare, who's trying to graze. I call for him, but he's too interested in his new friend. The mare, however, lifts her head up and drags her feet over. I caress her cheek, grabbing the reins at the same time. I get up, leaving the unconscious girl down, and put the reins over her neck. She stands very still all of a sudden, and I thank my good stars she picked this horse instead of some hot headed thing.

I pick the girl up again, grunting in effort. The mare stays in her spot, simply turning in her nose to sniff at her rider’s knee. I manage to haul her across the pad, but there’s no way she’s going to stay there by herself. I see her stir a little and her eyes flutter.

“Dan? Dan, can you hear me?” I steady her body, hanging like a potato sack, and bend my knees, jumping high as I can. “Dan, I’m gonna get you out of here, don’t worry.”

I throw a leg over the mare’s wide croup, skidding up until I have the girl’s body between my legs. With great efforts, I pull her almost upright. 

“Please, help me, just get your leg over. Hey, hey.” I give her face a couple taps and she groans in pain.

At least she’s semi-conscious. I grab a chunk of jeans and pull with all my strenght until she feebly finishes the motion. She’s facing me now, and I wrap an arm around her waist, using the other to steer the mare. Tater Tots is by our side, nipping at the mare and seemingly confused. I grab his reins and pull him up to me until I can unclaps one side of it to have a longer line to pony him. 

I make kissing noises and squeeze my calves. The mare startles into a reluctant trot, and I hold the girl tighter. I keep pushing the mare into an active trot, periodically checking on Tots with a glance. He’s trotting along fine, but the mare isn’t so keen on having him at her heels.

I ride her along the birch trail without letting her drop to a walk until I can see the stables clearly.

As we approach, I call for my uncle, but there’s no answer. One of the boarder comes out of the stable and when she sees me, she rushes to us.

“Zoe, what happened? Are you okay?” She grabs the mare’s reins, halting her, and I hand her Tater’s too.

“I’m fine. She fell. She hit her head.” I look at Dan’s pained features, still limp in my arms.

“My goodness, is she conscious?” She checks for herself, pinching her thigh; no reaction. “You need to call an ambulance.”

At this, the girl suddenly speaks up. Her words are faint, but her hand grips my shirt, above my right breast, and she opens her eyes just enough for me to see the dilated pupils.

“No. Ambulance.” 

I try to get more out of her, but there’s something in the way she keeps griping my shirt as her head rolls back on my shoulder. I exchange a look with the older woman, and then back at the girl.

“Can you take Tots in, just put him in his stall, I’ll come later, he’ll be fine.” I ask pleadingly.

She gives a last worried look at the girl before nodding and walking away with Tater Tots. I carefully slide off the mare’s back and, with as much difficulty as before, get Dan off too. She’s a little lighter, and she wraps her arm around my neck by herself.

“My head hurts.” She grunts, her jawline tight.

“I know, you took quite the fall.” I look back to see the woman coming towards us again. “Can you take the mare -”

“Layla.” Dan whispers groggily.

“Can you take Layla to an empty paddock, please?” The woman nods again and I don’t wait for her to take off before picking up the girl.

I walk briskly towards the house, checking on her features often to make sure she stays at least half-conscious. I didn’t realize how far it was until my arms start burning under her weight, and my breath catches in my lungs.

I make it anyway, and I shoulder the unlocked door open. I veer to the left in the open living space, and bend over the couch. Dan rolls off my arms and I place a cushion under her head. She moves a hand to her temple, groaning.

“Hey, hey.” I say softly, pressing on her shoulders as she meekly tries to get up.

“I got, I have to-” She’s out of breath and yelps loudly under my hands.

I yank them away, putting them in the air with a frantic look.

“Did you hurt yourself? Where does it hurt? Is it your neck? Your arm?” I hesitate between palpating her to see where the pain comes from and waiting for an answer.

“I’m fine.” She spits between two labored breaths.

“Sure.” I scold. “Let me see.”

She’s too weak to protest, and I help her sit back up. She’s becoming more and more conscious as minutes fly by. I start unbutonning her shirt, but she swats my hand away. I’m kneeling in front of her and I get up, sitting so she has her back to me.

“I need to take a look. You’re hurt.” The last words trail out as I see something dark glimmer in her hair.

She doesn’t seem to notice it and I gently bring my hand up to her head. My fingers touch something hot and sticky, and she instantly ducks in pain.

“You’re bleeding.” I get closer to look at her wound better, looking down at my pastel polo; sure enough, a red stain has expanded over the shoulder, down to my chest.

She reluctantly lets me part her hair; it’s a good cut, but it doesn’t look too deep. As soon as her cap is off, blood starts dripping down in thick streaks down the side of her face.

“You need to go to a hospital.” I repeat, but she shrugs.

As she does so, I see that her left shoulder doesn’t actually move. Using the fact she has her back to me to my advantage, I press on it. She screams out and curses at me. I can see that she can barely stay conscious after it, so I get up again and get in front of her. I unbutton her shirt, enduring her weak slaps. Slowly sliding the shirt off her shoulders, I gasp loudly.

“What happened?” I whisper

“I fell yesterday. It’s nothing.” She tries to reach for her shirt, but she can’t get it over her left shoulder.

“I’ll get you some ice, and then I’ll wrap your head.” I shake my head, walking away.

I find her with her shirt half buttoned, sweat perling off her forehead as she strains through every motion.

“Don’t be stupid.” I pause for a second. “Stupider.” I give her a meaningful look. “Stay put, I’m gonna drive you to the hospital.”

“I said: No. Hospitals.” She sounds so angry, but it feels more like the kind of lashing out a cornered animal does, not real; self-defense. 

She’s afraid.

“Don’t be scared, I’ll stay with you.” I try to sound as reassuring as I can, but she just glares at me.

“I’m fine.”

I sigh; there’s nothing more I can do. I sit with her, motioning for her to undo her shirt again. She rolls her eyes but does so, trying to keep as much of her uncovered chest shielded. I place the bag of frozen peas on her shoulder and she hisses. I can’t help the smirk curling my lips. Blood has stained the collar of her shirt, trickling down her shoulder.

Once she’s let me wrap her head in a solid bandage, I hand her two aspirins that she takes with eagerness.

She seems more at ease now, and definitely fully conscious. I try again to convince her to go to the hospital, but she still refuses. 

“Where’s Layla?” She asks with sudden worry.

“She’s in a big paddock by herself. Myriam took her in; she’s fine.”

“I need to get her; I have to get home.” She tries to get up and I stand up before her, so she sways on her feet, her body crashing in mine.

“You need to sit down. You’re not going anywhere. Can I call someone to pick you up?”

I prop my hands on her hips, gently guiding her back down. Her cheeks flush red and she avoids my gaze. I don’t know why, but I feel my own face warm up and my ears are burning. 

The front door opens suddenly and we both startle. She twists, covering her chest with her shirt and yelps in pain. I get back up on my feet and run to the entry. My uncle is just taking off his shoes as he looks up.

“Zoe-” he stops dead and I see his face change suddenly.

“Oh! No, no, no, that’s not-” I gesture at my bloodied shirt. “That’s not mine. I’m fine.”

He clasps a hand over his heart and holds himself up on the wall. He seems to realize that it’s still quite a lot of blood and hurriedly walks to the living room. Dan is trying to get up -again- as he sees her.

“What in Heaven’s name happened?!” He sounds so worried for this stranger who bloodied his couch.

“I’m - Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I’m just leaving.” The girl stutters, wobbling.

“No. You’re not.” I steady her by the waist, sitting her in her spot once more. “She fell, hit her head during our trail ride. I brought her here because there was no cell service out back.”

“Well, did you call an ambulance?” He asks me, but we answer at once.

“No ambulance.” I give her a disapproving look and add; “I tried, she doesn’t want to go to the hospital either.”

“This is crazy.” He points a finger at her, one hand on his hip. “You, miss, need a doctor.”

“No thank you. I just need to get home.”

I scoff, throwing my arms in the air, and my uncle pinches the bridge of his nose. He waves a hand in front of him, sighing, and turns around to disappear in the kitchen. I sternly point the couch and tell her to stay put. I follow after him and he’s pulling a beer from the fridge.

“What should I do?” I ask, refusing the open bottle he hands me.

“She doesn’t want a doctor, you can’t force her.” He shrugs, sitting at the table and taking a swig.

I sigh, going back to the living room. I grab the keys from the entry and jiggle them at her.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?” She doesn’t trust me.

“I’ll drive you home. If you die, it won’t be on my couch.”

She blinks a few times, looking baffled, and I’m quite proud of my effect. She puts an arm through her shirt and winces. I walk up to her, delicately helping her. She stops fidgeting and lets me button her shirt back up. 

She doesn't make it to the front door.

I manage to hold her up, yelling for my uncle. He rushes to us, helping me to put her back on the couch. Her head rolls to the side, unconscious and unresponsive. I try to wake her up again, but to no avail.

“I'm calling an ambulance.” He orders, and I don't have it in me to fight him.

“You still owe me lunch.” I murmur, tears stinging, when he's gone to fetch the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late! Got a major writer's block for this thing UGH


	12. DANIELLA : bed of lies

###  DANIELLA

There's an annoying light flashing in my eyes.

That's the first thing I consciously realize.

The second is a loud thumping, erratic, fast.

It scares me.

It gets louder until that's all I can hear before I feel warmth spreading on my shoulder. 

My eyes won't open no matter how much I try.

Darkness remains and the drum resumes. The warmth comes back and it settles the noise, as if it was soothed.

Everything falls silent and black again.

\------

I'm dreaming.

I have to be dreaming.

My eyes flutter open to dark messy curls spread over my right forearm. I try to move my hand out of the way, but something is keeping it. A rock is sitting on my abdomen, but it can't be a rock because it is so unbelievably hot. My head is buzzing, my body numb in the warmth of the rock weighing me down.

My hidden hand is on fire, and I feel the sudden urge to free it, to see it still exists, so I pull.

It is freed easily, and the clash of the cold air on the dampness of my hand makes me shiver. The rock on my stomach is suddenly lifted as well.

Only then do I realize I am not dreaming.

The strange beeping is the rhythm of my heart, quickly spiking up and down on the monitor by my left. The dark curls are suddenly framing an all too familiar face and I want to hide. And yell. And kick. And  _ kiss _ . 

What?

“Hey, you're awake.” Zoe whispers, her eyes darting back and forth between me and something behind.

I look beyond her head to find my mother's body hunched in an arm chair, her lips partly open. She looks worried even in her sleep, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

“Wh- “ my eyes widen at the sound of my cracked voice; it feels like I swallowed sand. A lot.

“Shh, don't. You're okay. You're at the hosp-" my face must fall as she says it because she grabs my hand again.

I yank it away, wincing and yelping in pain as my shoulder moves. My mother jolts awake and she inadvertly shoves Zoe aside in her rush to get to me. I secretly think she did it on purpose. 

“Oh my god, Dani, you're awake.” she jerks her head towards the door. “Nurse! NURSE!”she's shrieking, a panicked look in her eyes as she smashes repeatedly a red button by my head.

Three nurses run in the room with alarmed faces and they rush to me not unlike my mother did. Through all of them asking what happened, and then asking  _ me _ questions,  I find myself looking for brown curls between green scrubs.

Zoe is quietly standing in a corner beside the chair, arms wrapped around her waist, bitting her lower lip mercilessly.

I look back at the nurse closest to me, who presses a cold stethoscope to my chest, and realize she's asking me questions.

“I, uh, I'm at the hospital. I think?” I frantically look between my mother and her, unsure if I make sense.

“You fell down the stairs at Zoe's house, honey, do you remember?” My mother is caressing my cheek, the coldness of her skin a heavy contrast to the rush of heat to my head.

“Ye- yeah.” I look for Zoe again, but she's gone.

My mother let's go of me suddenly. She looks back too, and then peers into my soul. The nurse clears her throat.

“We need to change her bandage and check her wound, Mrs Reed, would you mind stepping out?” I don't want my mother out, I want her to stay with me and hold my hand.

My tongue stays tied and she looks at me, waiting, hoping. I nod. She swallows loudly, nodding back, and heads for the door.

“it'll taKe about ten minutes, why don't you go get yourself a coffee at the cafeteria. By the time you're back, I'll be done.” It's like the nurse knew exactly what she needed to hear.

The extension of my injuries scream horse fall to me, but I'm not about to correct them. I glance at the nurse checking my head laceration, and she  _ knows _ . I squeeze her hand, quickly looking at the door to make sure my mother was still out.

“You're okay. Your girlfriend told us.”

I want to protest that Zoe is  _ not _ my girlfriend, not even a friend, barely an acquaintance, but I don't believe she'd believe me. I nod quietly, letting her finish wrapping a fresh bandage on my head.

“How long til I can ride again?” I ask after a few seconds, checking the door.

“Riding is out for a while, girl.” She purses her lips and straightens her back, hands on her narrow hips.

I sigh, slouching back in bed. She doesn't stop eyeing me as I sheepishly attempt to roll my shoulder without grimacing.

“If you get on a horse before this heals, you risk never riding again.” She hooks a new I.V. bag up. “What's it gonna be? A month of no riding or a lifetime in pain?”

I grunt a promise to not get back on before I get the doctors approval. She seems satisfied when I won't look back at her, cheeks red. She leaves just as my mother walks back in. She's got two cups in her hands. 

She pauses at the door, exchanging a few words with the nurse, who shakes her head. Her shoulders slump, her spine seems to crumble forward a little. She sits besides me, puts down one of the hot beverage and takes a sip of the other. Her smile is faint.

“What's wrong, mom?” I rake my brain, trying to find what could have upset her so badly so quick.

“You mean besides you being here?” there's a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, her serious tone outshadowed by the quiver of her lips.

I roll my eyes; it comes naturally nowadays, because her sense of humor has always been so  _ motherly _ . I hold out my hand as far as it'll go without being painful through my arm. She sighs, wrapping it in hers and folding my arm back on my lap.

“I didn't get to say goodbye to your friend. Zoe, is that it?” She sighs again, “I wanted to thank her for getting you here on time.”

Her voice has started shaking and her pats are erratic. I look back up at her face,  taking in the puffy red eyes, the glistening cheeks, the worried creases on her forehead. Her lips are a thin pale line, and I realize for the first time how horrible this must've been for her.

“I'm sorry, Mom” I whisper, bringing our linked hands to my face.

I gently kiss the white knuckles, rubbing my nose on the little scar she has right before her wrist. 

I still remember the day she got that scar. 

I must have been about three or four years old. Somehow, I had gotten past all the security checks in the kitchen and found the big knives. It's a miracle I didn't kill myself before my mother ran in and saw me. I looked at her, giggling, and tried to throw one of the knives on the counter. She had ran up faster than lightning, smacking the knife out of the way. I don't think she had realized she was bleeding until I pointed it out to her, cradled in her arms.

I rub my thumb over it, smiling shyly.

“I guess I got better at accidents.” I chuckle. “At least I gave you a good deceny before getting badly scared again.”

She chuckles, but there's no humor in her voice.

“Baby, every single time you walk out of the door, I worry.” She carefully pulls my hand to her cheek. “But that's just being a mother.”

I rage against my inability to hold her. Her eyes aren't seeing me anymore. She's still clutching my hand, but I don't think she realizes it. She seems so deep in her own thoughts, I kind of feel bad to gently tug on my hand. The extension of my arm hurts my shoulder. She sniffles, patting my hand back on the bed.

“You should go home, mom. Get some rest. I'm sorry I made you worry. I'm fine.”

To my surprise, she nods along and gets up.

“You call me if there's anything, Dani, I'll be here in minute.” She stops by the door, a hint of a smile twisting her face. “And please invite your  _ friend _ over for dinner.”

I groan; she knows she can ask anything of me and I won't be able to say no. I also know that I will find an excuse for Zoe to not be able to make it, and hopefully, by the time she thinks of it again, my guilt will have faded.

I close my eyes for a good second after she's gone. I didn't realize how tired I grew for just being awake. I shift in the bed, something uncomfortable rustling in the covers. I manage to pull out a crumpled piece of paper with a neat and tight handwriting. I know it's not my mother's because she writes like she has three seconds left to live, and I write in all caps.

I flatten it on my abdomen, exponentially curious as I make out multiple numbers. 

_ You owe me lunch. Call me. _

I can't believe she would be so bold. I scoff, scrunching the paper up again and throwing it on the bedside table. 

\-------

I can't stop thinking about it.

It's like it's tempting me, with the “call me" visible from the bed.

I turn my head to the other side, determined to sleep for the night. They gave me a good painkiller, but my brain isn't foggy enough to stop all the thoughts.

My mother calls just as I was going to give in.

“Hi, did I wake you?” She's whispering.

“No, not at all. Why are you whispering?” I whisper back.

“I don't know,” she laughs a little. “How are you feeling? Do you need me to come back? I can. Do you want me to? You know what, I'll be on my way -" 

I hear her breathing quicken, she's rustling things.

“Mom.” I say sharply. “I'm fine. You stay home. I'm okay.”

Silence falls on the end of the line before she sighs.

“Are you sure?” She sounds so suddenly tired, I wish I could go home and take her to bed.

“Yes, mom,” I purr, I never purr, but she needs it. “Go relax, I'm gonna sleep, I'll see you tomorrow.”

She nods. I know she nods because she scoffs and I hear the little smile when she says ‘okay’. She hangs up after that and the thought of Zoe has left my mind.

I fall asleep easily, to my own surprise, and wake up around eleven fifteen. My room is dimly lit, the blinds half closed and door ajar. The light from the hallway is bright enough that the first thing I see is the piece of paper by the phone.

I sigh.

Stretching to get to the phone is harder than anticipated, but I make it eventually. I dial the number reluctantly, barely aware of the time of night it is. It only seems to register when the line rings multiple times.

I hang up, suddenly panicked, before she can answer.

_ What the hell?  _ I clench my jaws, my heart is beating in my throat and I feel dizzy. I take a few deep breaths. My hands are getting sweaty so I wipe them on the blanket. I can’t do this. I won’t.

The phone rings.

I jump, throwing it on the floor in a loud clang. 

A nurse immediately opens the door and looks at my wide eyes and cheeks red, then at the thankfully intact phone on the ground.

“I, uh, was about to call my mom when it rang. Startled me.”

It's not a full on lie. I  _ was _ about to call someone, and it  _ did _ startle me. But my heart won't stop racing and the monitor by my left is frantically beeping.

“Did you hurt yourself?” the nurse picks up the phone, putting it back on the bedside table.

“No, no, I'm fine.” 

She checks my vitals anyways, and eyes me carefully. She's about to leave when I clear my throat.

“I  uh, still need to make a call.” She stops, waiting. “ I could barely reach the phone the first time and…” she nods silently, putting the phone back on my lap. “Thank you.”

I will my heart to keep still as I dial again. I should just let it go, forget about it, maybe call in the morning. But I put the receiver to my ear and there's barely a ring before a strained voice answers.

“Daniella?” My full name sounds so foreign, yet so familiar in her voice, it makes me want to hang up right away.

“I'm calling.” I croak.

I am fighting with every fiber of my body to keep the phone to my ear and my  fingers away from the hang up button of the base.

“At half past eleven.” She states, presumably yawning at the same time.

“Sorry. Stupid timing. I'll call -"

“I couldn't sleep.” She says suddenly.

My mouth opens and closes, no words or sounds coming out of it. What am I supposed to say to that? Why wasn't she sleeping? Does she feel bad because she lied? I bet she's going to try and come clean to my mother. If she does, then I'm sure to be grounded forever. I can kiss goodbye to any sort of riding career.

Tears sting, my nose itches. I snap my mouth shut. My face feels hot, and my heart is beating hard and loud, but not because I'm anxious.

I am furious. 

“Why? Cos you feel bad? Is that it?” I scoff, gripping the phone tighter. “ What, does your precious little moral compass tell you it's wrong?”

I snarl. I am mean. I'm vicious.

I'm wrong.

I know it. I know it as soon as I say the does words, as soon as I hear her let out a breath, like a whimper, and she stays quiet. I feel the silence through the line, and I only stop because I know she doesn't deserve this. I try to say something else, but she responds first.

She hangs up.

I don't blame her. I know I shouldn't - I can't - blame her for this. This is my fault. I assumed, out of worry, out of fear, and I made her to be something she's not. Even though I barely know the girl, I'm sure she's not that kind of person.

She's kind, and generous, and she didn't have to lie, she didn't have to cover for me. She didn't have to wait. She didn't have to do anything, but she did them.

I hate myself to a renewed degree when my fingers won't press down on the phone. I need to call her back.  _ She already thinks you're mean, what's the point in humiliating yourself more? _ I need to say I'm sorry.  _ For what? She'll laugh and tell your mother for sure now.  _ This isn't okay, she doesn't deserve to be treated like this.  _ But what was she thinking, lying like that for you? What if your mother hears about it anyways! _

I want to scream. My head hurts from all the thinking, and my shoulders are tensing up. I take my time putting the phone back beside me. I look around myself, out of habit, before sliding the paper under my pillow. 

Looking at the clock,  I sigh. It's going to be a long sleepless night if I can't shut my brain out. I give up about fifteen minutes later and press the nurse button by my head. 

The same nurse from earlier walks in and she immediately checks the floor, then my monitors.

“What's wrong?” She asks, and I feel tears fogging my vision.

“I can't sleep.” My voice is barely a whisper, all my energy focused on keeping it together for just five more minutes.

“Did something happen?” She frowns.

“No, no. I'm just…”  _ Terrified. Sad. Anxious.  _ "Tir ed. But I can't sleep. Do you think I could get something to help?”

She eyes me for long seconds before nodding slowly. She comes back after five minutes with a paper container and a water cup. I take it a little too quickly to be just tired, but I'm too far in to care at this point. I hand her back the cup and she sets it on the table.

“You're gonna be thirsty when you wake up. This'll help you sleep for a couple hours. We're still going to check up on you every hour and we’ll notify your mother. “

“Please don't tell her. If she comes in and I'm still sleeping, don't tell her about this. Okay?” I hate how I sound so desperate.

“We have to tell her what medication we gave you. She's your parent.”

“I know. I meant… don't tell her I'm the one who asked for it. Please.” I feel my eyes shutting, but I reach out and grasp the hem of her shirt. “Please.”

I see her nod before letting go, putting my hand back on the bed. She leaves as I'm closing my eyes, sleep finally welcoming me with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Daniella needs therapy doesnt she T_T we all do lol  
> Next chapter will be a little different, introducing someone new hehe who's excited?


	13. BARBARA:  bad memories

### BARBARA: bad memories

 

My mornings always start the same on the days I work.

My alarm wakes me up at three a.m., I silently get dressed in my room, then carefully walk down the hall to the kitchen. Daniela programs the coffee maker every night before she goes to sleep, so I simply take my travel mug, add the milk, and by the time I put it back in the fridge, a fresh cup is waiting in the pot. I take my antidepressant dose for the day with a glass of water right before I leave.

I drive to the pastry shop, which usually takes seven minutes and twenty three seconds. I like to know these kind of things, it soothes me. It takes three hours and sixteen minutes to roll the croissants, make the pastry dough, sweep the flour off the floor, turn the oven on, and bake the first batch of the day.

I have fourteen minutes to put a fresh brew of coffee on before Ms Anderson comes in. At 6:27, I put a croissant with a dash of butter in the microwave, for one minute and nineteen seconds. While it heats up, I set two creams, three sugars and a mug on a plate. When the microwave beeps, the front door bell rings and Ms Anderson walks in.

“Good morning, Barbara!” She calls out every single time.

I put the croissant in a plate, pour the coffee in the mug, and bring the tray to the front counter. She pecks my cheek and takes a sip of coffee.

“Good morning Ms Anderson.” I say, and she nods.

I then take my bag, which I always leave on the counter top, and get on my way. It is always 6:30 at this time. Ms Anderson is the only employee of the shop, and Mr Tantoon’s oldest friend. She is in her late sixties, but you'll never see it show. She is the sweetest person I had the pleasure to meet and she's like a mother to me.

After I get back home, I put another pot of coffee on and climb the stairs to wake Daniella.

This morning, though, feels different. When I knock at her door - she closes it so she doesn't hear me in the mornings - I hear rustling before she calls out ‘okay’. I take a few breath, steadying my grip on the doorknob.

I don't like changes, even silly ones like this.

I walk up to her, sitting at the edge of her bed. I resist the urge to caress her cheek like I did when she was little. I know she doesn't care for these kind of affections nowadays. Instead, I curl my fingers around a naked ankle.

I stifle the smile from my lips when she says she's not feeling well and would rather stay at home. I'm not an idiot. I know she's not sick; her eyes are still the same steel blue.

When she was a little girl, Dan figured out we looked at her eyes to see if she was really feeling sick or just trying to get out of school. She started telling us she didnt feel well with her eyes almost shut so we couldn't see if they were on the greener side. It always made me smile, and sometimes I'd let her stay even though we knew she was well.

I try to remember if she has an exam or something big happening at school, but I dont think she does. I put the back of my hand on her forehead; she's kind of warm, but that's not unusual for her. We tend to run high in temperature on my side of the family.

Memory stings my mind as visions of my ex husband take over for a second.  I've been getting better at pushing those intrusive “What if…” thoughts away and out, but they still get me sometimes. It's in the little moments. I get back up, moving around in hopes she didnt catch my smile falling.

“Does this have anything to do with what happened Friday?” I ask, whispering like it's a big secret.

An array of emotion pass on Daniella's face before she looks puzzled. I calm my thumping heart; she's almost an adult, she doesn't have to tell me everything that happens. Frankly, I'm glad she leaves out some things, so I don't have to imagine her getting hurt while riding. She shakes her head, but I'm not buying it. I decide to go with what I want it to be about.

“Are you sure? Ariane called me that evening, asking if I could do some baking. For a bake sale? To boost the barn's visibility?” I watch her features relax and a shy grin creeping up on her face.

I chuckle, leaning in just a little more to add “You can tell her I'm in.” I wink and leave, closing the door behind me.

Something tells me I better not get home from work earlier like I had planned, or I will not find my daughter in bed. I know she's going to the barn as soon as I leave, and it takes everything in me to go back to work.

I trust her.

Sometimes I have to remind myself of that. I have to remind myself that she does not think of me as a failure and she doesn't lie out of malice. I have to remind myself that this is not my fault, but it's not her responsibility either. Daily, I remind myself that I am worth the fight through hell and back to take the smallest step forward. She deserves a mother who's present and well.

I make my way downstairs again, setting Dan's favorite mug beside the coffee machine. I fry some eggs with frozen hashbrowns. Sitting at the kitchen table, I look at my watch; i have less than eight minutes to eat and get back in my car.

I take one, two, and three deep breaths to calm my heart racing up. I don't like being late on my schedule. It took me so long to get good at scheduling my week, it makes me feel sick when it derails without notice.

I eat fast and quick, a pang of guilt taking my heart when I actually discard my plate and fork in the sink. I wash them on normal mornings. More for the evening, that's all.

I jump down the front porch stairs, catching the windchime with my fingers. The jingling noise is not as melodic as usual, and I can't help the tightening in my chest. It almost feels like a sign; a disruptance about to happen.

I put it on my overly cautious nature and get in my car.

\-------

At four forty five, Ms Anderson sweeps the floor in the front of the shop, and that's my cue to begin wrapping left over loafs and cakes. We usually chat about what's new in our lives, although she does most of the talking.

I found rather quickly that when you mention depression to people, their opinions change, along with their attitudes. Even Mr Tantoon doesn't know.

She finishes telling me about her granddaughters ballet recital and I finish putting the last croissant away. I walk out from behind the counter, give her a short hug, and let her close up. She likes to wait a little fifteen minutes after closing hours, just in case someone is in desperate need of a baguette for dinner. No matter how many times I tell her the grocery store in the next town is there for those kind of emergencies, she waves me off.

As soon as I get in my car, a bad feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I can't explain it, but I keep the keys in the ignition and run to the house.

“Dani?” I call to an obviously empty house.

I run to the kitchen and my heart sinks to the bottom of my shoes. Her mug is exactly where I left it, and the coffee has gone cold in the pot. I take a deep breath, turning around in hopes to find her standing behind me. Instead, I see the red blinking light of the answering machine.

“Oh, dear God, no.” My hands are shaking and I miss the listen button twice before the recorded voice tells me I have one new message.

“Hello Ms Reed. My name is Zoe, I'm, uh… a friend of Dan. I'm calling because there was an accident." There's a pause of what feels like an eternity. “She's alive, doctors says she should be okay. We're at Westfields Hospital.”

“You could have said that first!” I scream at the machine, not bothering to listen to the rest of the message.

I forget to lock the door, but I don't care. I'm tempted to run through all the stop signs, but I don't want to end up dead. It should have taken me twenty minutes to drive there. I did it in fourteen. I leave my car in the drop off alley, and someone tries to tell me I can't park here.

“Here. Do whatever. My daughter had an accident. I have to go.” I shove my car keys in the nurse's chest.

I run past him with all my speed until I'm at the front desk.

“Where's my daughter? Her name is Daniela Reed, I got a, I got a call. She's here's. Where is she?” My words are frantic, my voice high pitched and broken.

The nurse behind the desk gets up and comes to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

“Don't touch me!” I shout, jumping back. “Just tell me where my little girl is!”

“Ma'am, please calm down. Tell me what happened to your daughter.”

“I don't, I don't know, okay? I was at work, and I had this voicemail and just… tell me where is Daniela Reed?!” I'm screaming now and I'm pretty sure I look crazy, but why won't anybody tell me where my baby is!

“You're Dan's mother?” a voice calls from behind the nurse.

“Yes.” I take a breath, scrutinizing the young woman who has spoken. “You. You! You're the one who called?” I shove past the nurse, pointing a finger at her. “Where is she? What happened?”

My eyes fall on the darkened and dried out blood on her shirt. My hand covers my gaping mouth, a cry strangling me.

“My baby…” My chest is too tight, air does not reach my lungs.

She catches me before I hit the ground, and everything goes blurry for a second. My mouth is full of cotton, my head is numb, everything is faded around me.

“She's in the recovery aisle. She's okay.” The young woman's voice is slowly pulling me back.

Our eyes lock, she's been crying too. Who is she? She has a freckle on the tip of her nose. It looks so ridiculous, like it's been drawn on. Who on earth has such a round and perfect freckle on their face? That's all I can see as she repeats her words over and over.

“She's okay?” someone asks, and they sound so broken, I would laugh if I didn't realize it came from me.

“Yeah. She's sleeping now. She fell…” She pauses, frowning, her mouth opens, but she don't say anything. “She fell down the stairs at my house. Must've slipped, and she went over the railing, hit her head pretty bad.”

I wonder what my daughter was doing at her place if I've never seen her, but all I hear is that she'll be okay.

“I wanna see her. Take me to her.” I want to sound assertive, authoritative, but I can barely speak above a whisper.

She nods in silence and looks down then back up at me. I follow her gaze only to realize I'm clutching her shirt, the white of my knuckles a heavy contrast on the dark of her clothes. I let her go and we walk briskly together.

I look at my baby through the large window, unable to keep the long moan from escaping my parted lips. She should be up! She should be moving! Oh! How things went wrong!

I grip my stomach with both arms, the twisting of my gut unbearable. What would I do to take her place. Guilt, anger, worry, terror, relief; a tornado of emotions makes me gag. I can barely keep it together, but a warm hand on my shoulder is like a new anchor. I turn around, reluctantly, to find myself staring at that perfect freckle again.

The girl is smiling through teary eyes.

“I'm so sorry, Ms Reed. I swear I called you as soon as I could.” She looks like an angel, her brown hair framing a beautiful face.

I can't speak anymore, but I nod. Frankly, as nice as she seems, I just want to see my daughter. I pat her hand, wrapped in mine, before entering the room. I close the door behind me, hoping it's enough of a message.

I tip toe to her bed, closely watching if she's awake. She looks so peaceful it would still my thumping heart if only her head wasn't wrapped in bandages, if her arms weren't plugged with IV.

If only.

If only I'd made her go to school this morning.  If only I'd come home early like I wanted to. If only you weren't such a horrible mother.

“No.” I cry softly.

I take Dani’s hand carefully, kissing the calluses inside her palm. Where has my soft baby gone? I put her hand back beside her. There's a chair right beside her bed, the cushion still a little warm. I wonder how long Zoe has been sitting here, waiting for me, for Dan.

My heart hurts for this sweet girl suddenly. I look behind me; she's standing by the window, eating her bottom lip. I kiss the top of Dan's head and walk back out just as a doctor is coming up to her.

“Are you Daniela’s mother?” She asks.

“What happened to her? She fell? How is she? Is she gonna be okay? When will she wake up?” instinctively, I grab Zoe’s hand with force.

“Yes. She hit her head pretty severely, and she has a broken scapula.” She glances at Zoe, then focuses back on me. “We can't know for sure when she'll wake up. Zoe here told us she was conscious after the fall, although with a lot of bleeding. She collapsed a few minutes later; we think it was a brain bleed. Fortunately, we were able to relieve the pressure in her skull, and she didn't appear to have suffered from any serious brain damage.”

She pauses, flipping the pages on her pad. I take a deep breath, taking in all her words.

“There's no sure way to know if she'll have full capacity until she wakes up.”

She looks at me, almost waiting for something from me. I must have a worrying look because she puts a hand on my forearm, a soft smile splitting her serious face.

“She needs to rest. We will keep a very cautious eye on her.”

She nods, and I find myself nodding along with her until she is out of sight. Zoes hand takes the doctor's place, but I can't take care of anyone else right now. I go back in her room, but leave the door ajar.

I sit on the chair next to the door. I might need to run to the bathroom if my stomach keeps churning. Zoe walks in after a tentative peek through the door frame. I wave a hand towards the chair next to the bed.

“I'm gonna be sick.” I whisper through clenched jaws.

I let my head roll back, the painful thud on the wall the only reminder that this is all real. Or my brain has found new ways to torture me. I tap my head again. Ouch. Definetely real.

Which would be a relief, if only banging my head on the wall was more painful than watching my limp daughter fight for her life. I can't imagine if she doesn't wake up. What if she does, but she can't ever ride again? I stifle a strangled moan, covering my mouth.

I can't think like this.

I force myself to repeat that she'll be okay. It becomes a frantic chant, and I rock back and forth in my chair, letting my back hit the wall. With each tap, I feel more exhausted.

Before I can fight it, sleep wraps me up and kidnaps me from reality.

I wake up in a jolt, panic aching in my chest. A dream. You were dreaming. I blink a couple times, trying to figure out what woke me.

I realize it was Dan, yelping, and I shoot to my feet. In my hurry, I bump Zoe out of the way. I don't have time to apologize right now, but I make a note to remember later.

“Nurse! NURSE!” where are the nurses, the doctors, anybody? I need to know my baby's fine!

The pounding in my ribcage makes my hands shake. I watch Daniela look between me, the nurses, and beyond.  I'm anxious to know if she's got all her brains. Why won't she speak already?!

I cover my mouth, a cry of relief stumbling out, when she finally answers the nurses question. I can't take it, I need to make sure, by myself, that she's still my little girl.

“You fell down the stairs at Zoe's house, honey, do you remember?” I stroke her cheek tenderly, feeling her hot skin beneath my cold fingers.

It soothes me, and it seems to appease her as well. I sniffle, clutching at my heart. I have so many questions, but her eyes keep darting behind me. I understand why the second I turn around; Zoe’s gone. I want to care about her, but I just can't right now. All of my soul is struggling to stay composed.

I try to tell Dan how relieved I am that she seems okay, but words won't come. So I stare at her, her green eyes as truthful as ever, the blueish tint to her temple the only tell of her fall. That, and the big white bandage wrapped around her head.

The nurse tells me I need to leave, and every fiber in my bones tells me to stay. I look at my daughter, hoping to get my green light to flop back down on the chair and stay. She nods. A wave of bitterness washes over me; where has my darling gone?

I just hope it's pride telling her to let me go.

I walk out, barely reassured by the nurse saying she'll be done in ten minutes. I want her to not have to be done at all.

I still briskly walk down to the cafeteria, and buy a coffee. When I get to the register, I realize I got two cups full in my hands. Who's the second for?

Zoe.

I look up, searching through the multitude of heads, but none are familiar. I wonder where she went,  and it makes me think back of when Dan woke up and it startled me.

I pay for both coffees because what are they going to do? Pour the second one back in the machine? I keep looking around, half hopeful that Zoe will be in Dan's room by the time I get back.

I probably hurt her feelings, shoving her out of the way like that.

She's not in there either, and when the nurse crosses my path in the door frame, I ask her if she's seen her. She shakes her head, adding that I need to keep my daughter quiet and calm, so her brain can have a break.

I didn't realize how slouched I got until Dani asks me what's wrong. I want to laugh; it's definitive, there's no brain damage! Only my child would ask me what's wrong as she's lying in a hospital bed all bruised and battered.

She rolls her eyes at me and I don't think I've ever been so grateful for such a display.

“I didn't get to say goodbye to your friend. Zoe, is that it?” I sigh, “I wanted to thank her for getting you here on time.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, a storm of images invade my mind. My voice is shaky, my eyes watering. I can't stop picturing my daughter, lying in a pool of blood at the bottom of a staircase. Meanwhile, I was probably decorating cupcakes, thinking of what I would cook up for dinner.

She brings my clammy hand to her face, kissing the back of it. When she apologizes, it feels like needles trying to escape from under my skin. I barely hold back another cry. She needs me to be strong. To be encouraging. She doesn't need me to weep. I straighten out my back, watching her rub the scar near my wrist.

The day I found her playing with knives, not even three, my heart stopped for the first time. I thought I was going to die, it felt like my heart wasn't in my ribcage anymore, it was beating in her tiny little body, in the big and sharp knife she had in her hand. When she threw it in the air, I didn't even realize I was already running until I fell on the ground beside her.

She had cried, startled by my shriek and my harshness when I'd pluck her from the ground. I looked everywhere on her face, neck, arms, legs, belly, because I could tell she was hurt somewhere. When droplets of blood stained her yellow leggings, I started crying and asking her where it hurt.

That's when she pointed to my arm, and I realized I was the one who was hurt. It was my blood, my pain, my throbbing heart, that I felt and heard.

Just like right now, I'm not sure which is my pain and which is hers.

“I guess I got better at accidents” she chuckles, but countless flashbacks of horse falls, bike accidents, stumbling and scraped knees would say otherwise. “At least I waited a good deceny before ending up in a hospital bed again.”

I chuckle heartlessly.

“Baby, every single time you walk out the door, I worry.” Her fingers are fresh on my hot cheek. “But that's being a mother.”

I can't help the bitterness seeping in my soul; I remember too clearly the past time she ended up in a hospital bed.

She had a concussion, broken ribs, misplaced vertebrae and a broken ulna. In two places.

_“She won second place, Barb.” He whispered as I held my eight year olds hand._

_“Don't. You. Dare.” I sneered, never taking my eyes off her._

_“Come on, love. The kid loves it! And she's alive, isn't she?” the way he said it, like she was just out from a cold, made my blood boil._

_I whipped around so hard, my neck hurt. I got up and walked as quietly as possible towards him. I shoved a finger in his wide chest, plunging it hard enough that he winced. I hammered it deeper with every word that came out next._

_“She is not alright. She is_ eight. _She is_ unconscious. _She is in a goddamn_ HOSPITAL! _” I couldn't hold back anymore, screaming with all my pent up rage. “She's supposed to fall off her bike and scrape her knee! To miss a stair and twist an ankle, jump wrong and break her wrist at the worst! She's supposed to be up, running around, laughing and making friends. She shouldn't be riding thousand pounds animals, three times her height! Hell I could get behind riding if she was riding ponies or some shit. I could even come to shows if she wasn't jumping fences taller than her! That's stupid, irresponsible and dangerous!”_

_I had started backing him up towards the open door. I pushed him out, hard, and slammed the door in his face. When I looked behind, I saw that Daniela was awake, and she was silently crying. She tried to close her eyes and fake sleep, but she knew I'd seen her._

_Mustering all the calmness in my voice, I tip toed back to her bed and sat beside her head. She opened her eyes and her lower lip quivered._

_“Hey, hey, ssshh, baby you're okay. It's okay. I'm sorry you had to hear this, Dani.”_

_Her father hadn't come back until the day she was discharged. Seventy two hours. He stayed away while his child was in a hospital bed for seventy two hours. No calls. No messages. Nothing._

I never forgave him for that. In my mind and heart, if you encourage your child into a sport with so many risks of injuries, you stick by her side when she can't even walk. You apologize to your wife and you listen to her concern.

I grind my teeth, trying to keep it together. She tugs her hand free and it effectively pulls me back to reality. I'm not sure if I don't find memories of my ex husband better than this.

“You should go home,” she says, and I pat her hand. “Get some sleep. I'm sorry I made you worry.”

I try to say no. To tell her that I will not leave her side. My lips agree before my brain catches on and I find myself nodding. I make sure to let her know I'll be back in the blink of an eye.

As I get to the door, I smirk.

“And please invite your _friend_ for dinner.”

I don't need to see her expression; the grunt she lets out is enough satisfaction. I make my way out of the hospital, knowing that I will have to hunt my car down.

Maybe I'll commute back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor mama!! I'd like to put Dan in a bubble and leave her there forever if only it meant Barbara never had to have a fright like this. On the other hand... mom humor, amirite?? Lemme know what you thought!


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